Page 154 of All the Forbidden Things

“Do you like my dad? Mummy says he’s a dick.”

Kez, our five-year-old appears between my legs, crawling across the floor sniper style. I swear the kid has some kind of secret ninja skill because he always manages to appear out of nowhere.

“We don’t say that word, it’s not nice,” I tell him while narrowing my eyes on Billie. She narrows hers right back.

“What word?” My son rolls to his back, looks up at me with eyes an identical colour to mine and asks.

Billie has always described my eye colour as ‘bird of prey gold’; the day we came to look at this house, a kestrel was sitting on an old tree stump watching us from the back paddock, and she brought up the eye colour thing again, saying that if we ever had a son, she wanted to name him Kestrel. I agreed, knowing full well no kid of mine was ever going to get the shit kicked out of him at school for having a name like Kestrel.

After watching my wife endure a twenty-seven-hour labour, when our son finally came kicking and screaming into the world, I was ready to hand her my very soul on a platter.

We compromised and came up with Kez, which I love. Now, getting to know the little shit, Damian, Lucifer or Little Fucker might have been more appropriate options.

Don’t get me wrong, with every fibre of my being, I love the mischievous, loving, thoughtful little boy staring up at me.

“I can see right up your nose, but don’t worry, there are no boggies up there.”

“Good to know dude. Where are your brothers?”

“Not sure. they said they was gonna find LaLa.” He shrugs, and I lean down, pick him up under his armpits and swing him up onto my shoulders just as Sunny starts to scream.

I'd once told my wife I wanted a house full of redheaded girls. We had one. I was now done with that idea. One was more than adequate. My daughter is constantly hungry, always angry, and rarely sleeps.

She is a wide-awake, hangry baby.

Sunflower Autumn Young has a head covered in dark auburn hair, the biggest blue eye’s, a dimple in one cheek, and only smiles for me. After Layla and our three boys, I finally got my redheaded daughter, who is the image of her mum. Unfortunately, the only times the kid really settles are when Billie’s feeding her, and I’m either singing to her, or she’s sleeping in the crook of my arm or lying on my chest.

“Muuuuuum!” Layla’s cry comes from somewhere in the house, and I know that Drix or Mac have found her. If she’s shit out of luck, it could be both.

Our four-year-old twins are an equal match for their older brother when it comes to getting into mischief. They’re well mannered and polite, but they’re also boys, and trouble apparently finds them at every step.

“Please go find the twins and stop Layla from killing them, I’m far too tired to be giving witness statements to the police today,” Billie says.

Dan stands silently watching as I take Sunny from my wife, who expertly covers herself up after feeding our always hungry daughter. Right on cue, she gives a loud cry.

“Hold on dude,” I tell Kez, who tucks his calves under my armpits and laces his fingers in my beard, beneath my chin. I settle Sunny against my chest and turn to search for my twins, in the hope I find them before my firstborn does any lasting damage.

I stop in front of Dan. “Tell me again why this whole parenthood gig’s not for you?” He shudders, shoos me away with a flick of his wrist and says, “ugh, I don’t even know where to begin. Don’t get me wrong, I love your children dearly, but that’s probably because I only see them a few times a year.”

“You’re missing out man. I can’t imagine my life any other way.”

And it’s the truth. Billie and our kids are my world. Despite our rocky start, we got ourus, and it’s more than I ever hoped it could be.

"Thanks, but I'm delighted with my life of occasional hookups, and going home to Ted my Cavoodle . . . speaking of which, are the devil dogs with your devil spawn, or can I expect to be terrorised by them too?” Dan asks about our rescue dogs, Edna and Jack-Jack.

"You're safe for now. They're upstairs with Layla, she's probably painting their claws and dressing them in tiara’s and tutus," I reassure him.

“Or that’s what she’s doing to the twins, and they’re protesting. That’s probably what the noise is all about,” Billie adds.

“Muuuuuum! Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad!” Layla’s cry for help again comes from somewhere in the house.

An hour later, the kidsare all settled over at my mum's cottage she shares on the grounds of our property with her partner, Aaron. Yes, that Aaron . . . And now I'm settled next to my wife about to give my first interview in over four years.

The only reason I agreed to this is that it’s Dan who’s asking the questions, and we want to bring some attention to the farm stay charity Billie has set up to help children who are victims of trauma or violence.

“Okay people, are we ready?”

Billie nods as I reach for her hand, give it a squeeze, before pulling it to rest on my thigh.