My husband and I bumped into a friend of mine who I had been out with a few nights previous. Obviously, I’d got completely shit faced, so she asked how I’d felt the next day and before I could tell her, he piped in with “She felt terrible! I had to tell her to go back to bed for a few hours while I did everything”.
He didn’t. He had a lay in because he always does and I struggled on regardless of the hangover, as I always do.
He also used to tell people what a hands on dad he was when the toddler was a baby. I bumped into one of his work colleagues in Tesco at some piss early hour one Saturday morning when the baby was six weeks old and wouldn’t sleep, who said “Where’s Dipshit? (Not his real name but should be) Oh poor thing, was he up with the baby again? He’s always saying how tired he is after doing the night feeds”.
How I didn’t lose my shit at the point, I’ll never know, but twat that I am, I just nodded and smiled and then cried in the toilets.
He’s never once woken in the night, and at that point, I was breastfeeding anyway so God knows how he would have fed her. He may have a pair of pretty impressive moobs, but I am pretty sure he’s never lactated.
Point is, he lies to make himself look like a good father, while living a merry old life doing jack shit and coming and going as he pleases. If he were the type to have a daddy blog (Christ, I hate that term as much as I hate mummy blog), it would be full of stories of what a wonderful husband and father he was. Which he is not at all.
Maybe some daddy bloggers are just really good liars who put it all over the internet? Maybe they do what my husband does to make them selves look good, but to a wider audience?
I am trying to work out why ‘daddy bloggers’ grate on me so much. Yes, I guess most of them are telling the truth and instead of sitting in the pub downing lager they are spending their evenings doting on their families and then uploading it all to the internet, but I swear, some of them aren’t being truthful.
I’m not bashing men at all – I bet a lot of mummy bloggers do the same thing; have a shit day where they are screaming at the kids and then write about how much they love them and how to make organic playdough. But it’s daddy bloggers who are getting on my nerves at the moment, so it’s them I am laying into.
I know at least one of them is a liar, liar pants on fire because I know his wife. I have seen him at home and with his children and it’s a million miles away from his quite successful blog and his Instagram page full of photos of happy children in the park. In reality, he’s a complete cunt.
Maybe it’s because I have had two children with two men who couldn’t be arsed to do a thing and it’s skewed the way I see the world, but really, are some men like the daddy bloggers make out? Yes, it makes me a bit sad that I am asking that, and yes, I do seem to live in a world where the man’s place is in the pub and the woman’s place is in the kitchen, but some men go a little over board when writing about their lives.
There is something insufferably smug about the daddy blogger, an air of “look what a wonderful father I am, look! I even write about cleaning my kids arse and getting up at 3am.”
One example I read recently was: “I have to leave my family for work for two nights, how will I cope, I am going to miss (perfect wife) and (perfect baby) so much sadface-sadface-cryingface”.
It’s your job, you twat, just go and do it and don’t bloody cry over it. I want a man, not a school kid.
In my extensive research pool of two husbands (both by the age of 31, maybe I could go for the hat-trick and squeeze one more before I hit 40) men fall into two camps: Manly and grumpy or sensitive and wimpy. I have yet to meet a man that is the whole package. But for me, that would man who does a whole day down the mines, then comes home filthy and does the night feeds and is cute with the baby because he actually wants to be a father too.
I am not even sure men like that exist apart from in my warped fantasy world. And If I were going to go down the fantasy man route, he’d come home filthy after a pit stop for a pint in the pub (I should have been born 70 years ago), help cook dinner and then play with the kids and muck in putting them to bed. Before going and getting us some cans and turning into a dirty bastard come bed time, then waking up with the toddler at 5am. Shit, if he was really nice, I’d go full on 1952 and have his dinner on the table waiting.
Plus he’d be a bit manly but nice with it, and most importantly, he’d have an awesome mother who he was nice to – never trust a man who doesn’t like his mother (unless there is a really fucking good reason, obviously). I really have over thought this over the years, and I am not sure a man like that actually exists. If he does, please send him my way, because I am sure he’d want a fat, miserable arse like me.
I don’t hate men – quite the opposite, I think men in general are brilliant, I would just like to find that elusive perfect one – but if he started a daddy blog, I would have to divorce him immediately.