Pre-child vow #42:  My child will not watch television. We will play, use our imaginations and read books. There will be a zero-tolerance policy for willful brain rot, open-mouthed breathing and ADD cultivation.

(Note to reader: pre-child vow #41 was I will not throw up during labour and #43 was there will be no plastic in my house.)

Given the track record to date, it should come as no surprise that Evan giggles every time Mr. Toppemhat comes on screen. He is enraptured, watching in awe as Thomas and His Friends clack along the tracks of Sodor Island, delivering ice cream to the beach and children to the fair.

And I get breakfast, a contented ten minutes to drink tea and poach eggs.

Then it’s back to living room laps, crudnut-swallowing and cat-tormenting, chicken soup for the toddler's soul.

Is it so bad? We all watched it. The Muppet Show, Carol Burnett, Hercules at lunchtime. But thanks to legions of unchecked children and lazy parents, television is a pariah. The lowest common denominators – parents who warm the house with broadcast glow, hours per day – have caused TV to be proclaimed evil for all.

Letting your child watch must be like choosing formula over breast. You feel compelled to justify your choice to not swim against the tide of trailer park parenting.

My child eats gnocchi with parmesan, you want to say. I’m not one of Them. It’s not like I’d sit him in front of ‘Barney’ with a bag of cheez-its and a can of coke.

He stands in his playpen, transfixed, and shame takes root in the pit of my stomach. But then he squeals happily, just in time for singalong. My tea is getting cold, and the bagel just popped. Five minutes. Maybe seven, tops. Okay, ten. But no more than fifteen. And I mean it.