Pappagris

I seem to have become indispensable.

F's morning chorus starts with vague murmurs that gradually mutate into a two-tone cry of "Mummy! Daddy!" like a clingy ambulance. That doesn't mean she's awake, though. If you fall into that trap, you get crossly told "Nej! Sleeping," as she rolls over and pulls a stuffed bear over her head.

You know when she is awake, because the two tones become one. "Daddy daddy daddy, daddy daddy. Daddy! Daddy daddy. Pick up." Then it's mummy's turn to roll over and go back to sleep, and I can go and make breakfast.

Daddy must also come and play. And hold her hand. And this morning, come and watch her watching the iPad. And run and get her paper and crayons. And get a glass of milk. Daddy must not, on pain of screaming death, be on the computer, talk to mummy, fold laundry or do cooking until instructed so to do.

It's sort of fun being in demand? Up to a point. That point being the point at which you need to do any chores, or even (god forbid) entertain yourself in any way. There's only so much rapt beholding I can manage before even the joy of seeing toy cars being repeatedly extracted from a smurf mushroom house palls. Five minutes, in all honesty, is the absolute maximum, and that's when it's still seven in the morning and I can stare into the middle distance for weeks without seeing anything.

It's certainly not fun seeing how rude F is to V at the moment. "No! Vill inte ha mummy! Mummy is bleh!" is a typical rejoinder to an offer of a kiss or a cuddle. She can be pretty chilly for no reason to either of us, but V definitely gets the worst of it. There's nothing much behind such vehement rejection, no more than there was behind the expertly executed right hook to the jaw she gave me last week. She tearfully went straight to the naughty chair all by herself when she saw my face after that particular stunt, which rather tore the heartstrings out of my ire. Canny wee lady, her.

Knowing that she just hasn't got the hang of the polite no just yet doesn't help it feel less personal, though. And her polite yes is no better. Asking her if she'd like some breakfast gets the most sullen sounding 'yeah' I've heard from anyone outside their teens. Then you have to dash through the obstacle course of her wildly flip-flopping demands (Butter on the bread! No butter on the bread! Milk! Red milk, not blue! In the other glass! With the pink bib! Too slow - give me yoghurt now!) to make sure she eats anything.

Luckily it's balanced with occasional displays of extremely generous affection, which leavens what might otherwise be bitter bread. "Mmmmm, nice warm daddy," for example, with a big pressing cuddle. Or "I'm stroking mummy's hair," whilst curled up on the sofa. So if it's tough work right now, at least it's very rewarding.

Eat Your Browns

"Go on, just try a little bit."

"No fank you."

"Go on! It's nice! You like it!"

"NO! Will inte! Will har den här!"

"You've finished all of that, there's no more. Come on, try this."

"No! NO!"

"Look, here's just a little tiny bit on a fork. Put that in your mouth and taste it."

"BLERGHHH NOO ARRRGH WAAAAAAA"

This would be an entirely standard mealtime conversation with any toddler, certainly, And therefore unremarkable, bar the facts that

• I'm offering F chocolate cake 
• She wants to have more boiled carrots instead

There is no pleasing some people.