What’s a daddy to do with a mummy’s

“I WANT mummy,” Thomas shouted as I reached over to lift him from the bath.

Rather than protest I was the man for the job, I went for Emma, she too bellowed, “I want mummy”.

“Don’t be silly,” I said, and made a lunge to grab any of my children.

Both of them recoiled in terror and screamed “I want mummy”.

Rather than wallow in rejection, I took a positive approach to the situation and shouted downstairs to Victoria, “you’re going to have to get them out the bath, put them in

pyjamas and persuade them into bed, they won’t let me near them”.

Victoria duly arrived, and I lunged again, possibly in a more threatening way for the twins, who cowered shrieking ‘I want mummy’.

“They won’t let me near them, it’s pointless being here,” I offered, as I walked out of the bathroom to go somewhere quiet for a nice sit down and maybe a biscuit.

Victoria managed to complete the many tasks I was legitimately prevented from doing, and despite the obvious benefits of my own children excluding me from their lives, I started to question myself.

Was I less sensitive, tougher or maybe a brutish intimidating figure compared to Victoria?

The ‘brutish, intimidating’ theme was ruled out almost immediately, as they frequently slapped my stomach and shouted ‘daddy, big tummy’.

I’d like to blame Peppa Pig for the inspiration for this abuse, and Victoria for encouragement.

But why was I second in the popularity stakes?

Yes, there was such a thing as mummy’s boy but wasn’t Emma supposed to be daddy’s girl?

The obvious answer was Emma adopted a contrary, populist stance to issues involving Thomas.