We’re having a baby. As in ‘the family’. Daughter Natalie is about 39 weeks pregnant and growing and we’re in deep ‘preparation’ mode. I do my deep breathing exercises every day and have a bag packed and ready. Even though I’m going nowhere. But its what you do. What you also do is get ‘stuff’. Massive and humungous amounts of ‘stuff’ that this little 6 to 9 pound baby ‘needs’. Cots, buggies, changing tables, car seats, all manner of stuff required for transporting Little Baby from home to Waitrose and back twice a week. And clothing. Babies are born naked but require layer upon layer of really soft stuff with little kittens on it, in order to stay warm and comfortable.

Except ‘our’ baby. Its different. Its a Spurs baby. Its mother, father, grandfather and everyone else is a Spurs fan. Which is a ‘gift’ that starts indeed from birth. Or in little Baby-Bell’s case, from way before. Because knowing of the family’s sporting preferences has inspired… well, basically all of the friends of father and grandfather-to-be to do their baby pressie shopping at the Spurs shop. Because at all major clubs they know that there is simply nothing cuter in the entire world than a 2-week old baby dressed as a Premiership striker, in full kit, with special faux-studded booties. The kit even comes with instructions how to spit on the floor repeatedly. Not that babies need teaching that skill.

So daughter informs me this morning that every single baby-gro, bib, sock, sweater that they have been gifted is Spurs-ware.

I couldn’t be prouder.

Unless ‘my baby’ becomes a vlogger. Then my pride limit would be extended. Every day you could watch it on youtube, sleeping, dribbling, shitting, just like you do all the fucking pandas and dogs and sheep and koalas now. Perhaps have a vlog eating a lemon or some other act of parental cruelty. Give it some knives to play with.

Vlogging is the way forward. Just in case kids don’t grow up obsessed with celebrity culture and a burning desire to be a Kardashian or some other worthless low-life who does nothing all day (that doesn’t involve surgery) but makes billions, they are now giving vlogging lessons to kids. Parents are abandoning the more historic ballet classes and karate lessons and other after-school activities in the hope that little Nigella, Kylie or Mousa will one day become a world-famous vlogger and lead them from their council flat in Milton Keynes to a mansion in Beverley Hills.

I fear for the world my grandchild will be entering. Except the Spurs bit, after yesterday’s win you’d think the baby would be desperate to come out in time for the semi-finals.

Happy Monday

A xxxx