It is possible for a one-year-old to get stuck in a catflap, and if he does, it will be a toss-up whether you free them or run for the camera.
There is no correlation whatsoever between age, intelligence, career, how much you want a child, the happiness of your own childhood or pretty much anything, and the extent to which you find having children utterly boring or utterly fascinating, or somewhere in the middle.
Bribery works.
It's perfectly OK to have a glass of wine at 5.30pm.
Before children, luxury is a day at a spa. Afterwards it's having a bowel movement without someone shouting at you through the door.
Feminism has done me no favours. I now have to cook, clean, wash clothes, look after a child as well as going to work, making important decisions and balancing the books.
Baby wipes clean everything. So you can throw all your other cleaning products away - there's no need for them any more.
You can tell your child's height by looking at the snot marks on your jeans.
If there's a hole, they will put something into it.
A small child weighing no more than two stone takes up at least two-thirds of a king-size double bed.
The male incapacity to keep hands and willy apart starts at a distressingly young age.
There's no one like a young child for letting your friends know what you really think of them.
Children don't actually die if they eat cat food ... it may even give them shinier hair and stronger teeth.
Babies are just as happy with the box something came in as they would be with any toy you could buy them. Consequently, second children mostly own boxes that boring things came in.
Just when you have managed to move everything out of their reach, they will learn to get a chair to make themselves taller.
Opening a new box of nappy sacks to discover that they are a different colour to the normal ones (and subconsciously debating which you prefer) can be the highlight of your day.
The number of people with second children makes it a statistical possibility that somebody, somewhere, will find your post-natal body attractive again.
You will stare at other parents' buggies to check out whether they are better than yours even though you know it is a sad thing to do.
No matter how squeamish you are, you will, at some point, cup your hands to catch their sick.
You will prod your sleeping baby just to check they're still alive or you'll be too scared to go into their room at night in case they are dead.
You will regularly shout, "Stop shouting!" at the top of your voice.
Whatever your intentions, you will end up sounding just like your mother.
You will never watch the news in the same way again.
If you drop the baby, it's an accident; but if your partner puts her down a touch too hard, it's grounds for full-scale war.
Sometimes only a daddy will do.
You will find that (your partner's) need for sleep is always greater than yours.
It doesn't make you a bad parent if you draw a moustache on the baby for a laugh, but it's best not to do it with indelible marker the day before an appointment with the health visitor.
If you make home seem really boring, they will be much more willing to go to school.
You must accept that once your child can talk, they will from then on know more than you and you will become more stupid in proportion to their increasing knowledge.
Do not buy a yellow potty.
Other people's babies - the ones who sleep through the night from two weeks, and behave immaculately in later months - are cobbled together in a laboratory somewhere.
If you feel there is any chance of the cuddly toy you are about to purchase being "THE ONE", buy two and save yourself a lot of trauma later.