You try to protect your child from the dark sludge of our superficial, celeb-obsessed culture. (1) Then her toys hit the tabloids, and what, exactly, are you supposed to do?

Now, it's not that I was labouring under the false belief that Whoozit, Baby's former Chief of Security (Toy Detail) and personal trainer, was the only or last of his kind. I know for a fact, for example, that Whoozit has a cousin living in the suburbs of Vancouver. (2)

But apparently - OMG - his people are everywhere. Including - OMFG - loitering near the pouchy crotches of aging rock stars...

This is how you ride, Whoozit? Really? Dude.

... and being stalked by paparazzi and having their faces (okay, Whoozit is all face, but still) plastered throughout German gossip rags. (The Germans, apparently, don't consider Rod Stewart an aging rock star. He's an 'Alt-Rocker,' which any child of the 80's knows that he is so not. He's a 70's hangover. But in German 'Alt-Rocker' can also be translated as 'Old Skirt,' so maybe they're not too far off.) (That said, you never know with the Germans. They like this. And there was the whole Second World War thing. But whatever.)

But, gawd, Whoozit! How am I going to explain this to Baby? That her fallen-but-still-beloved-friend comes from a line of star-f***ers?

Damn. Parenting is turning out to be harder than I thought.

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1. Which one day will require hiding those Us and People magazines that, um, somehow find their way into the bathroom.

2. Who alerted us to the shame that has been brought upon the family.