George holds the key to our votes

It has been hard to avoid the General Election – bombarded with news and polls on all fronts. George has another 17 years before he is eligible to vote (that's about another four governments) but that's not to say he can't influence our decision.

On one hand, there's the sensible method. Checking each Party's policies on family issues and finance, education and health care – because we'd love George to be healthy as well as clever.

On the other hand, there's the fun way. We line up three of George's favourite toys – a red cup, a blue cup and a yellow cup and see which one he goes for first.

Now I'm not going to get all political, but the Reds' promises all ring a little hollow and desperate – after 13 years in power they've had plenty time to deliver them way before now, so there are no excuses... and as a consequence the red cup will be withdrawn from the line-up.

There has also been a lot of talk about a hung Parliament, and if this is the case then we could do worse than turn to George and his generation for inspiration. I have noticed how he stares a lot – especially at other babies – and I have noticed how the other babies stare back at him. I'm pretty sure that it's not because George thinks he's hard, but it does seem a bit like a 'first-one-to-blink-loses' competition which continues as George strains his neck around the sides of his pushchair to make sure he wins.

It's certainly something misters Brown, Cameron and Clegg should consider, and a 'first-one-to-blink-loses' competition, like boxers do, would be an effective way to settle vital decisions as well as make excellent TV compared with a lot of what's on. Only thing is, Mr Brown might be at a slight disadvantage with his dicky eye... oh well, can't be helped!

Parents give knowing glances too. A sort of secret world of communication that people without children can't see...

George was sitting in the supermarket trolley and after getting a little fidgety we gave him his milk. He holds it on his own now and only needs a helping hand when he gets close to finishing it and can't lift the bottle high enough. As it's milk he rarely let's go, but on this occasion he flung his bottle across the aisle, all the way from the breads to the toilet paper, and watched it skid and roll across the floor as daddy gave chase (could be the makings of a good game). Daddy picked it up just as another couple passed with their trolley and their similarly aged baby. The wry smiles were enough to reassure me that it doesn't just happen to me, it happens to all parents and that I needn't be embarrassed, it's all part of parenthood, that it might seem like hard work but we all love it really and even though our dignity can sometimes be compromised it gives us something to smile about. All that information in a split-second. I gave a little smile back that said 'kids, eh!'