Never been happier

Despite the early mornings, interrupted nights, never being able to sit down and constantly worrying about how every little word I say could have a huge impact on them, the best thing about being a Pseudo Dad - or any dad for that matter - is how all of this can just melt away with a smile or a few loving words.

Leaving the house today The Boy and The Girl were waving goodbye to me. The Girl shouted "Bye Daddy," a slip that has happened before as I've known her since she had just turned three. I have honestly never seeked to encourage it, because as bad as Biological Dad is, he's still her dad, and us insisting that I am also her dad could only confuse her. But when she said it today I just turned around to say goodbye, deciding not to mention what I thought was a slip. "But you are like a daddy to us," she said, clearly having said it on purpose. "And you're like a daughter to me," I said without thinking, but meaning every letter of it. I know we'll have tough days ahead, a la "You're not my Dad," but I've never been happier.

Shot down

Just went up to The Boy's bedroom with him so he could show me something he'd made. I noticed he'd broken one of his toys so I had a look at it to try and fix it, but it was too broken. "You're not clever enough to fix it," he said, "Daddy could, because he's cleverer than you." I know it shouldn't bother me, but it has. Biological Dad is a moron. He left school with nothing but GCSEs, didn't bother working for five years, and even when he did he couldn't keep a job. This clever man now answers the phone in a call centre for a living. I know The Boy meant nothing bad by it, but I can't help but feel chopped down.

Back to the future

Just watched Back To The Future with The Boy and The Girl. There is nothing better than seeing their faces trying to understand why there are two Marty McFlys. Just a good job they didn't see this version...

Big tum, bad bum

Bit of a scare today: When Mum picked The Boy up from school his teacher warned her that he may have bum troubles. The Boy's school had a chef come in to teach them about food. He made them all a massive fruit salad, but rather than take a little bowl like everyone else, The Boy basically pulled up a chair and started to dig in.

And this isn't the first time we've had problems with him and food either.

When he was seven-months-old he basically stole a plate of Fairy cakes meant for everyone at his cousin's birthday.

When he was turning two he ate so much food at TGI Fridays that he kept filling his nappies non-stop and had to be put in the bath, which he filled three times.

Then last Christmas, he ate so much at his playgroup's Christmas party that he was hospitalised. He vomitted for hours and became dehydrated, so had to go on a drip and spend the night in hospital. On top of that, he refused to take the liquid paracetamol so they had to push a pill up his arse.

And the thing is, he isn't fat, or even any of the euphamisms like chunky or big-boned. He's just a normal little boy except he can take on his own body weight in food like when you see a snake ingesting a bison.

But tonight feels like a reprive. He's just gone to bed without squirting all the fruit back out. Yet.

Why you should watch your words

After a long time using birth control last night was the first time Mum had her period in a while. Needless to say the sudden influx of hormones meant she wasn't at her usual calm best, and snapped at The Boy when he kept asking silly questions about everything she did.

I decided to explain to The Boy and The Girl what was wrong with Mum, as I believe that even if they're too young to understand the logic, they're at least old enough to understand that there IS some logic and won't feel as hard done by. I explained that mummies have an egg in their tummy which is where a baby grows from, but when there isn't a baby the old one needs to come out so a new one can grow. I explained that the only way it could come out is if it was bled out, and - although it's nothing to worry about - because mummy was bleeding a little bit for a week she would be a bit grumpy because bleeding is isn't nice.

After explaining this to The Boy he proceeded to tell us that when Mummy "lays" a baby it might be a boy or it might be a girl. Got to love his literal interpretation, I guess.

Shattered

The Chimps have been off school today for a teachers' training day, so Mum has been working from home to look after them. But not even a full day's work compares to just the two-and-a-half hours of Chimp time since I came home.

After a trip to the park we let The Chimps watch Ice Age, but The Boy can't just watch a film. Heavens no. He has to ask questions about every little detail. Who's that? Why's he doing that? Is that man he's fighting his friend? Why isn't that man his friend? Agghhhh. I hadn't even been watching the simple-as-piss plot about a crotchedy loner becoming friends with a social outcast, how the hell should I know?!?

Getting them to eat tea was like trying to convince George Bush that simulating fellatio on Vladimar Putin live on Fox News would be good for his image, but we stood our ground when it mattered and conceeded when it would have been vicious to have continued.

Finally, after what seemed like six years hard graft in a Russian POW camp they've finally gone to bed. And I'm shattered.

PD

The irony is delicious

Well, Biological Dad dropped The Chimps off and told Mum that The Boy needed new shoes in a very patronising way. Needless to say we don't need parenting advice from a man who drops The Chimps off still wearing the same socks they were dropped off in on Friday.

Thankfully, they seem better than they usually are after they've spent time at his. So far, at least. Although The Girl did ask him to phone her more - well, more than the four times in one year, at least. His reply: I can't, because I have to work really late and then I'm on the bus. His career? A 9-5 call monkey in a customer services centre.

He really does care too much.

PD

Real Dad manages to text with his fat fingers

Just had a text from Biological Dad saying that he's bringing The Chimps back and that they've had sandwiches for lunch. Apparently this means they need a HOT meal. As everyone knows, HOT is a nutritional food group, which has many benefits over the COLD group, which is why burger and chips is a better meal than a buffet that includes the right amount of fruit and veg to give them their five a day.

As annoying as the comment and suggestion that we're incapable of knowing how to feed a child is, it's made worse by the fact that Biological Dad is clinically obese, has on more than one occasion taken The Chimps to McDonalds for breakfast, lunch and dinner - well, at least it's HOT food - and that Mum is actually a diet expert who writes extensively on nutrition.

It boggles the mind.

PD

Judgement day

Sunday: no longer the Lord's day, now a day of universal relaxing. But when The Boy and The Girl have been at Biological Dad's for the weekend - as they do on alternate weeks - it's a nerve-wracking day. The Chimps have been living with us for a year, but still when they come back from a weekend at Biological Dad's house they take a bit of time to settle in. There's the obvious reason: readjustment, but it goes a little deeper than that.

Despite only seeing them for four days a month and never calling in between - except the three or four times in a year, of course - Biological Dad doesn't pay The Chimps much attention when they're at his house. So often The Boy or The Girl have independently told us that he doesn't get up to give them breakfast, leaving them to help themselves to food in his cupboards. We've had wordswith Biological Dad about this. He says he'll get up, does it once, then goes back to his default setting of laziness again.

And from what The Chimps have both told us, his flatmate actually spends more time with them, even being the one to bandage up The Boy when he hurt his toe, while Biological Dad sat and talked to his new friends.

On top of that, he lets them stay up late to watch programmes like Lost and 24, needless to say that neither are suitable for a four-year-old or five-year-old. So, they come home tired, having nightmares, a bit confused, needing a lot of attention and full of the sweets he gives them to reduce the guilt he feels.

And that's the toughest thing about being a Biological Dad: constantly having to undo the bad work done by Biological Dad, being the one who has to dish out punishment while he's the one giving out sweets and all the while seeing two of the loveliest little people suffer.

PD

Moving on up

As any Pseuodo Dad will tell you it isn't easy when you try to take your first step anywhere two or three steps into the process. When I was just living with Mum we lived in a one-bedroom flat in southwest London. When The Boy and The Girl came to live with us we had to move to a two-bedroom flat. Because we had to move quickly we ended up in the most horrible estate you can ever imagine. It was like being on the set of La Haine - high-rise living with low-income families despite both Mum and I earning decent enough money.

After a year spent living surrounded by gangs of kids out at all hours we managed to move to a lovely two-bedroom house in a much nicer, child-friendly area. The kids go to a great school and are doing really well, but as they're nearly seven we need to move to a three-bedroom house so they can have their own room. As London makes millionaires live in pokey houses we have little choice but to move out of the city to Kent, an area still commutable but almost half as expensive.

Again, as with moving to La Hain, we're faced with doing something we wouldn't choose to do, but have no choice but to do it. As a kid I had no idea how difficult it was for my parents. Mum and I are only 27, and would like our own baby at some point, but unlike most 27-year-olds we don't need to make the step from a one-bedroom place to a two-bedroom place, we're talking two-beds to four-beds - not easy, especially when we have to live near London because of our jobs.

The Boy and The Girl are at Biological Dad's house this weekend - always nice to have a lie-in, but horrible missing them and knowing they'll come back scared as he lets them watch Lost, even though we've repeatedly told him what a moronic idea that is.

So, we went to Kent for the first time to scope it out and see whether it is doable. I really wasn't keen, but I can't stop picturing their happy little faces when they find out they'll have their own bedroom. I can't wait to have to explain to The Girl why we can't make her room actually look like a princess's castle. Or seeing The Boy have his own space for the first time in his life and hearing how he'll want it to look. I can't wait to have more money so we can see their eyes as they unwrap a bike - pink for The Girl, Baa Baa Boo Bah (Bob The Builder) for The Boy. No matter what I want, I want what they want twice as much.

PD

Who is Pseudo Dad?

I am Pseudo Dad. I live with Mum, The Boy (4), The Girl (5) and The Furry Boy - our one-year-old cat. I lived with Mum for around a year before The Boy and The Girl came to live with us. They'd lived with Biological Dad for just over a year after Mum and Biological Dad split, because Biological Dad ran off to live with his parents, leaving Mum to pay the mortgage on their old house they were selling, the rent on the new house they'd all just moved into, and all the child care as she was working full-time and he was stroking himself while in chat rooms, 24/7, after refusing to work for a good few years.

As Mum couldn't cope doing everything, they agreed that The Boy and The Girl would be best living at his parents with him for a bit. It was a horrible decision based on best intentions and the reality that Mum couldn't do everything and had no family near who could help. Everyone told Mum Biological Dad would fuck up. Mum hoped for the best. Biological Dad fucked up more than even his worst enemies could have guessed.

The Girl - an incredibly bright child - missed almost as much school as she went to. He lived around the corner, but just plain couldn't be bothered to take her. But it was The Boy who suffered most, losing a small patch of hair that the doctor we took him to - when Biological Dad refused to take him and accused Mum of over-reacting - said could only be caused by stress. We tried over and over and over again to get Biological Dad to realise the mistakes he was making, not to mention the effect they were having on The Boy and The Girl, but he wouldn't listen. We were left with no option but to take him to court to get custody of the kids so they'd be looked after properly and happy. I'd like to think he gave up the fight before the hearing because he knew they'd be better with Mum, but we both know he was just too lazy and scared to fight.

So, now I find myself all of a sudden living with a woman I love and two children who belong to another man. Biological Dad still sees them every other weekend, but never phones them. Every now and then we hear The Boy or The Girl saying something like "Daddy is going to hell because he's so mean to us" - none of us are religious by the way, so no idea where that comes from - or "We have two dads. One (Biological Dad) is mean because he never gets up to give us breakfast, but the other (Pseudo Dad, me) is nice." It's one hell of a lot to take on but I love them more than anything, and despite the bad effect Biological Dad has had on them they're the happiest, funniest, most secure kids you'll ever meet.

And then there's The Boy. I have found myself using phrases I never thought existed - see the top five moments below - and realised that I needed to keep a record of what The Boy and The Girl were like growing up - if only to use against them on their wedding days - and what it is like bringing up another man's children, especially when you're constantly making up for Biological Dad's mistakes. And here it is...

PD