Out of all the hospital wards, on all the days, the leader of the opposition, Tony Abbott, just happened to stroll into mine yesterday.

Well not exactly mine; that of my wife, Chantal, and five-day-old daughter Sassika.

I have always cringed at politicians cuddling babies to earn votes. But you know what, like eating brussels sprouts, the experience is often better than the thought of it.

It began with a visit from the nursing unit manager, who asked my wife whether she would be prepared to receive a visit from Mr Abbott, his wife Margie, and the media. Then came the press secretary, who surprisingly did not ask my wife whether she sold fruit or was an illegal immigrant. And so we waited, and wondered. Will she cry? Will I cry? Will I accidentally say "no means no"?

Then footsteps. Lots of them. And with a firm handshake, Mr Abbott greeted us and there were the obligatory questions about the health system. I got asked about doing the washing at home. Mrs Abbott held our little girl, and then the moment. He held her. And thankfully, she neither cried, vomited, pooed or grew red hair, like the other candidate, who for some reason has not chosen to visit us. (I later heard she was in Townsville. Pfft to her).

It was actually not such a turgid experience. And over so quickly.

The last to leave the room was the quite lovely Mrs Abbott, who thanked us generously for our time. We were left to peruse the TV channels to see whether our five-day-old girl had gotten five minutes of fame.

"I'm sure this is the most precious thing I'll hold today," Mr Abbott had told us. He might be holding the nation soon, so we did feel kinda special.

It was left to my father to put some perspective on it. "She's probably the 300th baby he's held in the campaign," he said. Yes, dad, but she's our precious little political cliche.

Glenn Jackson is a sports reporter with The Sydney Morning Herald.