Is your baby on crack?

A mother of two baby boys confides: 'I'm glad his baby acne cleared up, because he looked like a little crackhead when he was all crying and spotty. He was a little bit harder to love'.

Don't call the social workers, I think she was joking. But you can almost hear the collective intake of breath. A mother feeling anything but endless love for her child? A barbaric concept for purists, a familiar one for actual parents everywhere - every frazzled, red-eyed, pissed-on last one of them.

Another mother, of six- and 15-year-olds, stares coldly across a restaurant table when someone suggests that every parent imagines throwing their child out of a window at least once. 'I've never even imagined that', she replies, 'and I never would'.

Is it wrong to think dark thoughts? Of course not. As long as you don't do them. We've all imagined doing nasty things to school bullies, bad bosses and Ashley Cole - it doesn't make us bad people.

I still find Luca impossible to be angry or annoyed at, but I know the day will come. And if staying in touch with my dark side helps get through the tough times, so be it.

Am I evil? Before you judge me, ask yourself this: Could you love an angry crack baby ALL the time?

You could? You are also on crack. Stay away from my family.

The greatest day of my life

Thursday 7 May 2009 was the the greatest day of my life and this is why:

Luca Frederick Holborn Fleming is four days old. His arrival laid to rest any lingering insecurities I had about the direction my life was taking. 'Direction' seems a silly concept now, meaningless next the simple fact of my son and girlfriend dozing together on the sofa behind me, all peace and mumbles.

Like many men I had fantasies about what I wanted to be: footballer, rock star, ninja. Like most men they remain unfulfilled, although having two left feet and all the rhythm of a steak pie made this easier to accept.

And now, with a nine-to-five and a family to look after, I may concede that the opportunity to develop the pinpoint reflexes and agility necessary to become a ninja has passed.

Having said that, when Luca unleashed a proud arc of piss into the air while I was changing his nappy yesterday, I managed to catch at least 20% of it in a small clump of cotton balls. Pinpoint reflexes? Check. Ninja-like agility? Check. The rest of the wee still ended up all over both of us, but I'm just saying.

Before I became a dad the main reasons I picked up a newspaper or switched on my computer were politics, sport or poker. All of which have an impossible amount of news and blogs to digest, and I could lose days with them. Fatherhood, which I hear is a popular pursuit, has nothing like it (although a quick search revealed some great stuff here and here, and I'll keep looking).

I understand it could never have the impact of a Champions League semi-final or MPs' expenses scandal, but being a dad happens to quite a lot of people, and I want to share this world of wonder. I also want help. Lots of it. 

For my money, the just-do-what-feels-natural school of parenting is absurd to me. Why go alone where billions have gone before? Let's share the glory and the gore. Please comment or email me with hints, tips and old wives' tales. Tell me if you agree with me; tell me if you think I'm a rubbish parent. In return, I'll post as often and honestly as possible on the triumphs and disasters my new family finds along the way.