“Dad’s Don’t Babysit – It’s called parenting”
Yes, very noble.
And I am sure there are some fantastic fathers out there who think this. You know those ones who like spending time with their children. The ones who get up in the night to feed the babies without being asked to, take them out on a Saturday so that the child’s mother can sleep and don’t see looking after their children as a life sentence if their wife wants to go out with her friends for an evening, or shock horror, a weekend away.
If you are one of the women with a partner like that, then I want to kill you. Or be you, if he’s fit.
I haven’t had the good fortune to have had a child with a man like that, and I don’t think the majority of men think like that. For every woman that says her husband is a fucking wonderful, Jesus like figure who waves her off on weekends to Malaga while planning a weekend of craft activities for him and the children, there are a billion more (yes, a billion, I did a survey*) who’s husbands are the sort who baulk at any mention of having to do any parenting beyond keeping a child quiet while they play on their phone.
I still go out because a) I have lots of wonderful friends that I like to see and b) I work from home with a toddler, co-sleep and am with her 24 hours a day, so if i didn’t go to the pub a couple of times a week, I’d go insane.
Still, in order to a social life I have to jump through hoops, even though we are now living separately and I thought that would mean he would jump at any opportunity to spend time alone with his child.
It makes me want to puke when I have to thank him profusely and constantly for looking after his own child for an evening (his new place isn’t suitable for young children, so he sees her here), but I have to thank him, because for him, it is babysitting.
I have to make sure that everyone is fed and watered before I go and spend the time where I’d like to be getting ready running round after everyone else while Daddy sits down and relaxes because he’s doing me a massive favour.
During this time, I have to also have to try and not rise to the snappiness and general air of moodiness that always envelops him before I leave for some fun. The huffing and puffing, the ‘Ive been at work ALL day’ overtones (sometimes it’s spoken too) that accompanies the attitude.
I have to be every so grateful that I am allowed out and if I do come home at 4am, I still have to be up at 6, ready for the day and can show no signs of tiredness in fear of getting the “I told you so” treatment.
When he goes out, he gets a lay in. Especially now that he’s in his own flat and can sleep in total peace and quiet.
It’s pissing me off.
This is how life usually goes for men:
Husband: “I’m out Friday after work”
Wife “Cool!Don’t make too much noise when you roll in”
This is how life goes for women (who aren’t the lucky cows who are going to jump on me)
Wife: “Can I go out after work on Friday?”
Husband: “What about the kids?”
Wife: “It’s okay, I’ll wait until you are home, then go”
Husband: “I’ve had a really busy week, I want to relax”
What the wife should say now is, “Grow up,dickhead. They are your children too”.
Doesn’t usually happen though, does it? She usually doesn’t bother going out. And notice that she asks if she can go out: he tells her he’s going.
*Of course I didn’t do a fucking survey.