The best thing about having a baby is becoming a pop star.
And a comedian. And generally, the best entertainer of all time.
In my head, I’ve always sounded absolutely fabulous. I’m the sixth (and only female) member of Take That. I just haven’t been discovered yet. In reality, though, I expect my friends and family probably would say something quite different.
Baby Frog hasn’t yet realised I have a voice that could smash a window. As far as she’s concerned, it’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever heard. I love that about having a baby.
It’s not all rosy though. For some reason (disloyal child) she seems to find her Daddy more entertaining. I could put on a whole show for her, singing and dancing, while all he has to do is smile and she’s putty in his hands. I hate to be upstaged (Competitive Mum again I’m afraid).
So I choose to believe that it isn’t because I have a rubbish voice. It isn’t because I’m a rubbish dancer. It isn’t because she doesn’t like Take That (my main repertoire of tunes). It’s simply because her Daddy has a funny face. Who can blame her really?