I really don’t mind rejection sometimes –

‘MUMMY, I want mummy’, cried Emma as I attempted to lift her out of the cot.

I looked at Thomas, who looked at me and decided he too was probably happier without my help.

‘Mummy, I want mummy’, he cried.

Both children were now crying for Victoria and making it very clear daddy was not invited to the party.

Aside from the rejection, I couldn’t fully understand why I was so unpopular for this particular task.

Both children chose me to help with brushing teeth, which I suspected was because I wasn’t as thorough as mummy. My method was a lot quicker and far less rigorous which appealed to the twins, who were yet to fully appreciate the benefits of oral hygiene.

On this occasion, their cries were to go unanswered because mummy was at work early.

The only logical reason for their resistance was I’d once hit Emma’s head on the light picking her up, but I can’t remember ever dropping them.

What really didn’t make sense was, I am the preferred choice for lifting them out of their high-chairs.

Although again, I feared this was because they view me as an easy option.

Victoria was more likely to clean faces and fingers, make them wipe their trays and do more of a thorough job, whereas I just picked them up if asked.

Whether they were rewarding my lacklustre parenting skills with affection wasn’t entirely clear but there was a theme emerging.

They also enjoyed reclining on me to watch television, treating me something like a beanbag, although Victoria maintained this was because I was more ‘cushioned’ than she was.