Jobs for the boy

I've recently been trying to think of ways in which Dylan can earn his keep and lighten the load once his little brother arrives. I'm talking in terms of conning him into believing that loading the washing machine and tidying up are the epitome of home entertainment rather than sending him up the chimney but, if some of his recent new 'things' are anything to go by, he may already be thinking about his future vocation.

"Put this in the machine? Sod off, Dad!"

For example, when he is on his changing mat, he has discovered that he can use his legs to slide away from me and underneath the airing rack. Once there, he'll happily rearrange the socks and pants while I fret about the possibility of him peeing both all over himself and the clean washing. So maybe a career as a mechanic awaits – for the avoidance of doubt, I'm basing that on the sliding around bit; I would never suggest that mechanics go to work with nothing on below the waist and piss everywhere. That would be rude.

If he's anything like me though which, given his recent obsessive behaviour, is entirely possible, he may not fancy the prospect of getting his hands dirty. Plus there's the fact that he likes organising things to such a degree that he makes In the Night Garden's resident OCD sufferer, Makka Pakka, look like a scruffy student. Maybe, in that case, he could earn his living in a sorting office. There's a sort of family history to this too – my Grandad was a Postmaster and I worked on the Post Office counter – so you never know.

How about a career as a referee instead?

My favourite option, however, emerged this week. We were at my parents' house and, having had a bowl of pre-dinner olives moved away from his reach as he'd been stuffing his face with them, Dylan proceeded to lean his top half on the coffee table and stretch towards them – in a perfect snooker player pose. I'm so proud! Maybe a wasted youth is calling but if it helps us pay off the mortgage early, I'm totally okay with that!