At some point in the past two weeks, I realised I’ve been usurped. An interloper has entered my house and taken over my son’s affections. His name is Pingie. He is a small penguin who says about eight sentences when you push his face. For this have I been forsaken. I am now a distraction from time he could be spending with Pingie who, I just have to accept, is now his true father.

I now see I should have tried harder at being a small plastic bird, who constantly tells him I’m black and white, or sings about my love of swimming. Where once he laughed every time I entered a room or stroked his chubby cheek, I am now a distraction from the true love of his life. Pingie, I just have to accept, is his new dad.

At seven months, he’s suddenly fascinated with his playthings. He pokes and prods each teddy and devours – sometimes literally – his floppy books. Most of the latter are devoted to teaching the names of animals and what noises they make. I notice they don’t say anything about penguins’ proclivity for singing, but I want to keep things amiable with his new dad, and say nothing.

This focus strikes me as an odd facet of early childhood. Babies are untroubled by explanations of things they see every day and will encounter their entire lives. I’ve never seen someone explain a toaster to a baby or heard them sing a catchy song designed to help them memorise different stationery, or items of cutlery.

Yet, for some reason, we’ve agreed it would be social suicide for a six-month old not to learn 800 animals by name. Not just dogs and cats and sheep and cows, but manatees, macaws and mantis shrimps. Our son is unlikely to speak for another year and we are prepping him on wildlife like he’s cramming for a zoology baccalaureate.

The ultimate example is dinosaurs, which are not just taxonomically various but also distinctly absent in the outside world. I don’t believe we’ve ever deliberately bought our son a dinosaur-related item, yet he has dozens.

T-Rex, Diplodoci and Triceratopses adorn his jackets, jumpers, onesies and bibs – 99% of all dinosaur imagery is on items designed for children, as if the connection between tiny little babies and giant world-conquering reptiles is so obvious that no explanation is necessary.

Personally, I think it’s cruel to bring them up at all, just to reveal that they’re all dead. You’d forgive children for thinking these creatures would play as huge a part in their daily lives as every object they own.

I’m resolved to give my son a more varied diet. From now on, all his outfits will be adorned with cutlery, and I’ll sing him only songs that list different types of staplers, rulers and envelopes. I’m making a few changes round here. Providing Pingie agrees, of course.

Follow Séamas on Twitter @shockproofbeats