The last two years had been hectic, preforming every other night, travelling all over the world, screaming fans, a pregnant wife and a three year old. Now, it's a different kind of hectic. Quiet, well... sometimes, 3AM nappy changes, bottles filling up the sink, and tiny hands pulling me to play tea parties or dolls.

Poppy, our three (almost four, as she'll make sure to tell you) year old, was taking the role of big sister very seriously. Helping with feeding, bath time, and reading stories to our 1 week old, Theo. We were worried that she might get a little jealous with a new baby in the house, but she'd been so happy since the day we brought him home. Practicing feeding the baby with her dolls, holding Theo's little hand in hers, kissing his head whenever she passes him. It's the cutest thing in the world.

You're sitting up on the couch, Theo cradled to your chest as he sleeps. I've got my head laid back on the couch, half asleep, as I absentmindedly rub your feet that are laying on my lap.

Poppy had taken my phone to FaceTime Gemma, wanting to show her favourite auntie her new dolls and how good she is at taking care of them like she does with Theo. She's so proud, it's adorable.

"What is she doing up there?" you mumble after we hear a soft thud coming from what sounds like our room.

"There's no screaming or crying, we're fine," I reply, stifling a yawn.

What we didn't know was that Poppy is now not talking to Gemma, instead a rapidly climbing number of people on Instagram live. The thud, her pulling the photo album off the dresser to show off to the hundreds of thousands of people on Instagram. Comment after comment flooding the bottom of the screen.

We can hear her laughing and talking away, assuming it's Gemma, we think nothing of it.

It's not until she comes back into the living room a little bit later, and your phone starts ringing from the coffee table that we realise what's going on.

"And- and this is my daddy when he went in a band," she giggles, pointing the phone at the old picture of when me and the lads got put into One Direction on the x-factor, "isn't his hair so funny?"

I hear you laughing quietly at her as you reach for your phone to see who is texting, granted my hair was a little wild back then so I can't blame you for laughing. I stand up to see what the little trouble maker is up to.

"Poppy, what are you doing?" I ask, looking over her shoulder, rubbing my eyes to see a little more clearly.

"Seeing the pictures," she replies like it's obvious.

"Oh no..." I hear you mumble, "Harry-"

"Oh, Poppy," I sigh at the same time, seeing that she's live on Instagram, hundreds of thousands of people watching.

I take the phone off her, ignoring the 'Daddy!' she lets out in protest. I awkwardly smile and wave at the phone before ending the live.

She was live on Instagram for fifteen minutes. Thank god she can't read the comments flooding through that quickly. I'd only glanced at them and seen about 50 comments with some variation of DILF or asking her to show her baby brother, which we certainly don't want.

"No more Instagram, you little trouble maker," I chuckle as I lift her up and sit back down on the couch with her.