I'm looking forward to life as the father of an international football star; DOUBLE TROUBLE FOR A FIRST-TIME DAD OF TWINS.
Byline: Richard IRVINE
"WOW, look at him, maybe he'll be a famous footballer when he's older," Victoria said.
Finally, somebody had confirmed everything I'd suspected, as Thomas booted an inflatable beach ball at the oven.
For the last year and a bit, I'd noticed he was better than children who weren't mine.
Before he could even walk, he hit circular objects with his hands and crawled after them, in much the same way as I imagined a young Kevin Keegan might have done.
And now he seems to have control, skill and pace despite only being at the cusp of his second birthday.
Overall, his general game has also improved, thanks to a coaching regime I'd instigated in the living room.
I'd demonstrate turning on the ball, we'd practise passing and trying to hit the goal/coffee table.
Possibly the most surprising thing about my belief in Thomas' abilities as a potential superstar footballer are these are my genuine feelings.
Despite being a reasonable man grounded in reality who really only daydreams of winning the lottery, I've somehow imagined a fabulous future for my son as the next David Beckham.
But my own interest in football is limited to occasional games, international matches and the Premiership.
I'm not even sure I support a particular team baby the coaching will make him better is technically ludicrous. If anything, it might stop him from realising my dream for him.
And finally, I'm going to be brutally honest here but neither myself nor Victoria exhibit the kind of talent required to comfortably exist in the top flight of any sport.
Genetically, I don't think we've got what it takes to train and play in front of thousands of people, which implies he might not either.
Worryingly, there's also an element of sexism encapsulated in my dreams for the boy twin because what about Emma? Well, Emma has started taking the clothes she wants to wear out of the drawer and handing them to me.
This has led me to believe she might be a fashion designer in the mould of Stella McCartney but crucially not a footballer, which suggests I only pretend to be a modern man.
At least I finally understand all those parents on talent shows who force children onto stage to sing poorly.
My theory is it's a psychological illness, fuelled by the fact parents remember a time, not that long ago, when their child couldn't even roll over, so anything after that will always be amazing.
Is your baby the next Beckham?