I can’t speak for every parent but I can most definitely say that having a baby has had an almighty effect on my attention span and ability to watch the telly.

It has simply become so much harder now I have a writhing, commando-crawling, squeaking baby boy. There’s definitely only so much you can hear above a screaming and chatty baby. There’s also the universal baby-obsession with attempting to eat the remote control and the (albeit) genius ability to screw up your sound and picture settings with their sole tooth. If you forget to quickly shove the control behind a sofa cushion they are guaranteed to flick the channel to Adult TV in the middle of the interviewing of a crucial suspect on Broadchurch.

A typical day in our house will usually start with BBC News. Dexter will sit in silence throughout the mundane news items like an interview with Amanda Holden about the total lack of talent in the UK, then decide to kick off when something actually newsworthy comes on. If I dare adjust the volume on the television, the “Mama, Mama, Mama’s” get louder in protest. He extends the same courtesy to Question Time so I have to cryptically work out what’s up for debate by lip-reading the panels responses.

Dexter is usually then entreated to a quick half hour of Mr Tumble whilst he flings toast around the living room. I’ll use the opportunity to check my emails, prepare his bottles, make the beds… stick my face in boiling water… anything to get out of listening to the incessant babbling of excited children who have just learnt to sign some inanimate object.

During his nap I might catch up on last night’s One Born Every Minute, 24 Hours in A&E or Homelands - something ‘adult’ to remind me that I’m 30-years-old and haven’t reverted to a 11-month-old by osmosis. I don’t get an opportunity to watch these in the evenings anymore as my attention span becomes equal to one half of Jedward when Dexter finally goes to bed.

These programmes tend to affect me more now I’m a mum myself. One Born used to be watched behind a sofa cushion with Craig and I both vowing to beg the doctor for a C-section when our time comes. We’d mock the clueless daddy’s, admonish the mums-to-be for not shaving their armpits, and shake our heads at the jobless teenagers who joyfully tell a 2 million+ audience they “forgot to take the pill”. Now I’m a snot-soaked mess after every episode and remembering my own messy and life-changing experience.

University Challenge is another favourite in our house. The catty comments used to start before the the first terrifying question left Paxman’s cannon-like mouth - “You’d think he brush his hair?!”… “Craig, we’ve got a smiler! His lip definitely moved!”… “His parents must have chained him to a desk”… We’d work out which team had the most ‘normal’ looking contestants based upon based the length of their hair, choice of garish shirt, or any little stumbles when they make during their intro’s. We’d console ourselves that any lack of knowledge we have about quadratic equations, the periodic table, and South-American native marsupials is absolutely fine - we spent our university days learning about Life and flush mechanisms on toilets in the student union. We prioritized beer over bread during our student days and are all the more rounded for it!

Now, we sit in amazement when they answer questions that might aswell be asked in Mandarin. I’m far more sympathetic when Paxman offers scathing criticism in response to a blatant guess. When they dare interrupt Monotone Paxman with an early answer we’ve got our fingers crossed that divine intervention has led to them getting it right. That could be our son in few years time!

You can’t even get over emotional and scream profanities during an England match anymore. Even though Dexter hasn’t even learnt what ‘mummy’ and ‘daddy’ means yet and is yet to say anything remotely decipherable, we’re paranoid about his first word being something our own parents would disapprove of. If I let slip an expletive when the ever-delightful Kerry Katona informs me that Cash Lady is the answer to our spiralling debt problem Dexter has a paddy like I’ve just threatened to decapitate his sock monkey.

Add to the mix that Craig and I now have a 10pm curfew to make sure we’re putting in enough quality time to add another Mills baby to the household - the television might aswell be a dusty mirror in Miss Haversham’s bedroom!

Anyone else struggle to have a meaningful relationship with their television now they’re parents?