A friend back home in England gave me some sage advice: “Don’t wish away the baby years, Ash. He’ll be a teenager before you know it.”

But it doesn’t matter if I wish them away or not. We already know what it’s like to have a teenage son around the place. At less than a month old, Jasper has established behaviour patterns that will cause countless fights in our house over the years.

His music drives us insane. The only baby items that don’t come with hideous muzak versions of ‘Working on the Railroad’ or ‘London Bridge is Falling Down’ are diapers. Children’s toys would have a longer half-life if parents weren’t driven to whip them at the wall during the 999th rinky-dink rendition.

He doesn’t pull his weight around the house (not even his mere four kilos). You’d think he could tidy up a bit, maybe do the dishes once in a while? But the merest suggestion brings teenage-style sulks and pouts from the little man.

It’s like we speak another language from Jasper. All our well-meant advice goes in one ear and out the other. He gazes off into space or rolls his eyes whenever we’re lecturing him.

Jasper treats the place like a hotel. He sleeps here, eats here and, aside from a few minutes of ‘tummy time’ and priceless smiley moments every day, all he contributes to the household is a bottomless pit we attempt to stuff with milk, and a messy crib.

He has disgusting habits. Unless we insisted on changing it, he’d wear the same T-shirt every day. He eats with his mouth open and emits gas in a way only guests at a formal Arabic banquet would find endearing.

Oh yes, I almost forgot. We’re expected to drive him everywhere. But hey, at least he hasn’t started dating yet… Sleep well.

Return to the Jasper's Dad archive menu