It was the day before fathers’ day and daughter 1 came and found me in the study. She had something tucked behind her back and was biting her lower lip, her little cheeks puffed out. She does that when she’s proud of something. Thank God I was paying attention and didn’t brush her off with an ‘I’m busy’.

It was amazing, the little hand scribbled card that she thrust in front of my face. ‘For you Daddy. Happy Daddies’ day. I did it myself. Look inside it’s a heart and says I love my Daddy (wobbly lines over dotted letters my wife had drawn out). Crayon and felt pen spirals and lines all over.

‘Sweet heart, it’s awesome. I love it.’ Her little chest swelled and we hugged. ‘It’s from me Daddy…Just me.’ The point being made and the one taken was that her little sister had nothing to do with it.

‘Thanks. I’ll stick it in the special place where I keep all the things you give to me.’ We hugged and inside I chuckled at her making the point that it was HER gift to me and that it was NOT from daughter 2. Angling for bonus points so early in her little life.

Fast forward to the day after Fathers’ Day. I’m lying with a bottle of red by the fire and Daughter 2 waddles up to me, with the tripping gate of a 1 and a half year old with a full nappy. She has a big plastic bag which she drops on my face. Daughter 1: ‘What’s that?’ Me: ‘No idea Peanut. Let’s open it.’ Daughter 2 is pulling the cat’s tail and no longer interested.

Turns out the bag is laden with Fathers’ Day arts and crafts and cards and an ‘I love Daddy T-shirt. It’s just been dropped off by Duaghter 2’s nursery school teacher as I missed the Daddies’ Day morning they had.

I hug Daughter 2, who’s oblivious and look across to Daughter 1 who’s now busy making sure I know that all this stuff is from her too and that she told her little sister how to do it and my heart breaks for her. The little chest swollen with pride is now panting with the effort of jostling for a bit of this delayed Fathers’ Day action and all I want to do is to hug her and tell it’s not about how big things are  or how many things there are, and that nothing can take away from the incredible card she made for me a couple of days ago…but it falls on deaf ears.

It’s bed time and I’m popping Daughter 1 into her pyjamas and we’re getting ready for a story…’Daddy.’ ‘Yes Honey?’ ‘I didn’t help her with any of her cards. She did them all.’

My turn for a little chest swell and throat lump ‘I know. Now come here.’

It’s late and I’m turning in and my head’s full of thoughts about how much goes on in little, really little kids’ minds and how it’s so easy to unwittingly tread on their pride and what’s so important to them…too damn easy and to not even know…