Big and happy.

Once again (projection of my issues with the colour pink onto various straw men aside) I have been remiss in my reportage of my daughter's unwavering development. For this I apologise. Here's what you've been missing:

She continues to grow at a mightily impressive rate. At just over four months, she is now over 18lb, a weight usually recommended for ladies twice her age. Not to suggest, of course, that this is a bad thing: her growth seems lately to be focussed upwards more than outwards. The best description I can muster of my daughter's current length is to say that, when I hold her under her armpits and extend my own arms fully above my head, she can quite comfortably backheel me in the face. This is an ability which she happily exploits at every opportunity. I should probably take heed of my wife's pleas for me to stop holding her like that.

In a further, very significant development, our daughter has four imminent teeth. Two middle ones at the bottom and two canines (alright then: vampire teeth), one on each side at the top, are very much visible just beneath the surface, albeit yet to break through. This stage has been reached over the past two or three weeks, and I'd have to say that - apart from slightly more frequent grumbles, a lot of dribbling, and a propensity for putting any available object into her mouth, she's taking it all rather well. This would appear to indicate that our daughter is made of strong, resilient stuff. Excellent news. Sadly though, this does weaken my claim that my impassioned and heavily dramatic reaction to any affliction I suffer is somehow hereditary. I must instead conclude that it is because I am a man.

Perfectly timed to coincide with the tooth growth, has been our daughter's introduction to real food. Early attempts at baby rice met with amusing but disappointing results, as eager curiosity failed to overcome the confusion of a novice, and the rice dropped unchewed and unloved from a tongue unable to reconcile itself to the new flavour. And the small, heroic quantity that ran this gauntlet and made it to our daughter's stomach was not treated well when it got there, as her nappy was soon to discover.

Gentle perseverance, however, has resulted in some progress. One day last week, my wife introduced further rice to our daughter's mouth, and PING: something clicked. Or should that be pinged? Anyway, the eating instinct suddenly kicked in as she chomped gummily away on the solid(ish) stuff, before despatching it throatwards with the nonchalant efficiency of a seasoned professional. Only today, our daughter enjoyed her first sample of butternut squash: an experience to which I think she beat me by about twenty years. I should clarify that these have only been tasters: our daughter is still breast fed, and will hopefully remain so for a good couple of months. And I should reiterate my immense gratitude and pride in my wife for her steadfast commitment to this.

Our daughter's personality is also flourishing. She graciously takes pity on her father and knows just how to make him glow with joy, pride and other cliches. Upon seeing me after any significant absence, her brow wrinkles at first, before recognition and delight compete to spread across her face, jointly manifesting themselves in a beaming grin which I defy anyone to improve upon. Another preeminently lovable habit of hers is to squeal for all she's worth as a demonstration of happiness. In combination with seeing the unbridled joy on her face, this is absolutely adorable. Regrettably, without visual confirmation it sounds like the blood curdling scream of a Wes Craven protagonist at the climax of her panic. I dread to think of the conclusions our neighbours must draw from the noise, with the sinister accompaniment of our satisfied laughter in the background.

But she's just happy. Which means that everything's OK.

Exciting new look!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This is so exciting I was compelled to use more exclamation marks than a hyperactive PE teacher enthusiastically designing a poster about his birthday party. Probably one involving squat thrusts. When you consider that I am one of those punctuation scrooges who see exclamation marks as the literary equivalent of laughing at your own joke, you'll begin to gain some understanding of the level of excitement on show here.

I invite you all to gasp in admiration at my blog's beguiling and appropriately pink new look. Of course, blog historians of the future will be unaware of its previously underwhelming aesthetic. But you, privileged readers of the present, will no doubt be suitably impressed by the transformation. Congratulations on sharing in the glory.

Homophobes and cliche-phobes may object to my choice of colour. To homophobes I say that you are now wrong about at least two things, and also that you should take the matter up with the football and rugby teams of Palermo and Stade Francais respectively. And to cliche-phobes I cite the determined reluctance of my wife and I - prior to our daughter's birth - to allow pink to permeate every aspect of her life, and the rapid crumbling of this resolve in the face of the colour's irrefutable suitability for little girls. You try having a daughter and let's see how long you persevere with cream and beige. And what sort of a stupid, made-up term for yourself is cliche-phobe anyway?

Cousins: something to aspire to.

We have recently enjoyed visits from both my wife's sister (from Canada) and mine (from Essex. But anyone who has had the pleasure of traversing the A12 will find this journey equally admirable), and their respective families. My sister has two sons, nine and seven, and my wife's sister has a two year-old boy and a one year-old girl. All have their own interesting and varied characteristics, to be endured or enjoyed accordingly by those in their company. As a proud and doting uncle I should stress that enjoyment is overwhelmingly the more common response in each case.

As well as the usual pleasure derived by my family from visits by these families, it has occurred to me that - as a parent - I now view such occasions with added import. I cannot help but regard our niece and nephews in the context of my daughter's potential, and hope that she will grow up to share some of their best qualities.

Our eldest nephew is, by all accounts, very very clever. He possesses an encyclopaedic knowledge of the UK motorway network (the utility of which will, I am sure, reveal itself in due course), and effortlessly outclasses me at mental arithmetic. And I'm no numerical slouch. I value an enquiring mind very highly, and sincerely hope - with some confidence - that our daughter will show levels of intelligence even approaching his.

His brother is relaxed charm personified. This ability to remain calm under pressure means that he shows an increasing prowess at, for example Wii bowling, not to mention football. Needless to say, this is an extremely valuable quality. I have already been working hard to develop my daughter's interest in sport, and the early signs are promising. Much to her mother's chagrin, her apparent passion for watching television is at its strongest during the football. Or the cricket. Or even the rugby. And I'm not even that bothered about rugby.

Our Canadian nephew constitutes an unprecedented bundle of energy and enthusiasm. Other jaded parents who speak of their loved ones as people who "never stop" are but amateurs, yet to experience true relentlessness. Rest assured that he will drain every ounce of mischief from any building he enters. And he gets away with it all. Because he, at two years old, is a people person. He makes charmingly appropriate use of please and thank you, remembers people's names and, when all else fails, he brings out the grin. This is a grin which, in tandem with his big brown eyes, cannot be resisted. In this respect also, our daughter shows early promise. Please, thank you, and names are as yet beyond her, but the grin is coming along very nicely indeed.

Our niece, last year, underwent harrowing surgery which would be a traumatic ordeal for someone of any age, let alone under a year, as she was then. This was a very difficult time for her family, friends, and anybody who knows her. The one person who held their resolve, and kept smiling throughout was our niece herself, who made less fuss than I do when I cut my fingernails a bit too short and it's all sore for a day or two. This kind of dignified resilience is a rare quality, and one which I would be immensely proud to see in my daughter, but hopefully not in similar circumstances. Our niece also demonstrates adorable maternal instincts, which were demonstrated last week by the hugs and kisses she insisted on bestowing upon our daughter. Both young ladies seemed to enjoy this bond, as did we. Although we did have to stop her from sharing all her food with our daughter, whose digestive system isn't quite ready for such generosity.

Clearly any sane and sensible parent wants their child to develop the best possible characteristics. What is interesting is how parents determine which characteristics these are. Only from experience have I truly understood that you define the best as that which you see in those you love.

I won't sleep tonight if I don't temper this with some healthy cynicism, so I feel I should also raise the possibility that the qualities I identify in others are simply those I see in myself, in my more egotistical moments (of which there are many). But whatever the cause, the effect seems to be good, so that's ok really.

A letter to my daughter.

To my daughter,

This weekend, your Mum and I went to our friends' wedding. It was a beautiful day, and we were so proud of you. Everybody thought you were amazing. Which you are. You inspired them all to want to have babies of their own. I didn't tell them that there's no way their babies could ever be as excellent as you. Sadly, I spent a little too long drinking in the sun, so I'm slightly jaded today.

Also this weekend, we watched two films which made me feel very sentimental. I hope that one day you'll read this and, if you do, I hope you'll forgive me for being a bit tired and emotional.

Both of the films we watched were based on books, which I also hope that one day you'll read. But for now, I'll tell you a bit about them and why they made me think about you. The first one was called The Road. It's a very sad story, but it's also very beautiful, because it's all about how much a daddy will do to look after his child, even when everything else has gone really wrong. Making sure you're ok will always be my number one priority.

The second film was called Where the Wild Things Are. It's all about a child who's a bit naughty sometimes, but really he's just frustrated because he's got a better imagination than anybody else. In the end, his own imagination helps him see that the people he loves, love him too. If I hadn't read this book, and watched this film, I might never have realised something very important: I must always encourage you to use your imagination (as long as I don't think you'll get hurt) because that's the best way to have fun. Sometimes grown ups forget how important having fun is, but I promise I'll try not to. You can hold me to that.

Love from Daddy.

Talking

Here are some things that our daughter has mentioned:

Dagenham

Pete

Manga

Gang

Ge (not a real word. Yet)

Kay

Ugly

Pride and prejudice.

One change fatherhood has caused in me is that I pay attention to other babies now. Not in a sinister way: I just mean that I acknowledge their existence, really. Previously I was a bit scared of any children I'm not related to, which I think is fairly normal for a young gentleman, prior to his initiation into parenthood. I've always been a bit shy, but the age group with whom I would go to the greatest lengths to avoid eye contact was the youngest one.

Now this has changed. Working in retail, I regularly encounter younglings, so it has been easily noticeable to me that I suddenly consider myself part of an exclusive club, whose admittedly large number of members know and understand the secrets of communicating with and understanding babies. I now shamelessly grin, wave and coo at every possible opportunity.

This behaviour seems to be deemed acceptable by the parents, so I assume it is normal. I think the reason people such as myself conduct ourselves in this way is because we want to show off. "I too am proven to be capable of reproduction," we are saying with these demonstrations of our ability to interact with the fruits of others' loins, "I can do this because I have also made one." Which is fair enough really. Of all the things to be vain about, the perpetuation of one's genes is one of the more acceptable.

But there's also a competitive element. I think it's human nature to compare what's yours with what's not. This may be a recent - and not necessarily admirable - development in our evolution, caused, perhaps, by our shallow consumer culture. Or it may be a more fundamental instinct. This is for anthropologists to speculate upon. But it seems to be a ubiquitous trait, the consequence of which is that, while I am grinning, waving and cooing at all these babies, I am making instant judgements on their size, beauty, alertness, intelligence and general potential to be a successful member of the species. And as I jump to these wild extrapolations, I am comparing them to those I have made about my own daughter.

And she always wins.

I try to be as objective as I can, but in all honesty I judge my daughter to be the most beautiful, amusing and adorable creature ever produced by biology. This is a worrying portent of a tendency in me towards competitive parenting. But there is little I can do. I'll try to rein it in by the time she starts school, because I don't wish to be that annoying parent that the others don't talk to (although I think your child has to be called Tarquin for you to truly achieve that status). Sadly though, I fear it's beyond my control: My child is quite clearly better than anyone else's.

Dad pride.

Our daughter is over seven weeks old now. Already I struggle to remember when she wasn't here. Really I should have been more diligent in documenting her progress through life, because many of her developments have been and gone.

By way of apology, I hope that you will accept this list of Excellent Things My Daughter Can Do:

Change colour. They say babies like routine. One of our daughter's is to cry and cry and cry until she goes purple every evening. This is not fun, but it does seem to clear her sinuses (see below). Also we have recently discovered that bathtime can be an effective and enjoyable antidote to this.

Genuinely smile. After weeks of getting willfully overexcited about the facial expressions babies make when they fart, we are now certain that, under the correct jiggly conditions, our daughter does actual, proper grinning. And there is nothing more rewarding to look at.

Grow. She puts on over a pound a week on average, and is already over a stone. Most supermodels weigh less than this, which somehow means that I can proudly tell people my daughter is better than a supermodel. She actually is more beautiful than any I can think of.

Withstand an horrific illness. I think our daughter is just coming to the end of her suffering, caused by the worst cold ever conceived by biology. I know it was this bad because I gave it to her. I feel very guilty about this, despite not really having been able to help it. For over a week, our daughter was unable to eat and breathe at the same time. She barely slept as a result of the frequent panic caused by her respiratory troubles and, I suspect, very hurty sinuses. Mercifully, although still snotty, she has noticeably brightened up over the past few days, so is hopefully over the worst.

Press-ups. Our daughter has always been a big fan of lying on her front, on mummy or daddy's chest. When she finds herself doing this with her arms underneath her, her usual inclination is to lift herself up and gaze curiously into whoever's eyes she is confronted with. Should these eyes be yours, you will find it impossible to resist saying "Ahhhhh", and being very impressed by her strength and stamina: she can stay up there for hours.

Stand up. Almost. Obviously it will be several months before she doesn't need some guidance and assistance, but our daughter can very nearly support her own weight on her legs. Some killjoy told me that this is perfectly normal and therefore unimpressive, but I think it's one of the more amazing of her achievements.

There are, of course more. But I have to go to work.