Introducing a new regular column giving a humorous look on family life and the joys – and pitfalls – that come with it.

They say if you want the truth about something ask a child, and it's true. There's no filter with the under-fives.

I'll never forget the time I was in the supermarket with my then two-year-old and within shoulder-rubbing distance of an older woman with short hair foghorn child declares: "Is that a man or a woman mummy? Man or a womaaaan?" as I rush the trolley across the vegetable aisle faster than if I was scrambling for the last inflatable frozen chicken in the final round of Supermarket Sweep.

Lady, if you're reading and you heard (and let's face it, how could you not have?): I'm sorry.

There's no place for egos either. You can be lying in bed, chest bursting with love at the sight of your pink-cheeked cherub offspring as you lovingly whisper heartfelt morning wishes, only to be brought back to reality with four little words: "Mummy, you're talking smelly."

Brutal.

So it really should have come as little surprise to The Husband the other morning when he found himself at the receiving end of one of these declarations (forget 'home truths', these ones put the kettle on and steal your slippers).

Leaning in for a pre-work kiss goodbye from a supposedly loving daughter he is instead greeted with a crumpling face and a cry of "Stinky mouth!"

Cue hurt look from Daddy, near-tears from the three-year-old and some half-hearted consoling of each party from Mummy as she struggles to breathe from laughing.

Except in this case it wasn't "stinky mouth". It was "sticky mouth"; namely from her freshly toothpasted teeth.

Guess it's just me reaching for the mouthwash then.