One of the things about writing a parenting column is that expectant parents sometimes ask me for advice, as strange as that may seem to those who actually know me (or read this column). My advice is mostly the usual stuff: support the head, pat their bums; never refuse an offer of help or a chance to sleep; and don’t worry about nappy changes because any phobia of foul smells and runny fluids will quickly be replaced with a fear of everything on earth that can damage the fragile little person you’re in charge of.
Increasingly, however, I have to talk about money, too, because the single most abiding pressure of parenting – for those lucky enough to have healthy, happy children at least – is the fact that it is, basically, financially ruinous.
