Despatches from a mother who started late (and is running to catch up)

A good man

"Then get down on your knees and thank God for a good man," says Granny.

I am telling Granny how the Bean's dad gets up every morning at whatever very un-Godly hour his daughter awakes, then looks after her until it's time for him to go to work, while I enjoy a lie-in. Not bragging. Just casually explaining household workings.

"He's more of a morning person than me."

I'm lying sick in bed with flu, as she berates me. Too sick to genuflect as instructed. Too sick even to blog. Much too sick to disagree with anything she says. Even when she calls the Bean a little potato.

I give a humble, token nod at the carpet to indicate I take her point about knees. Just a gentle nod, though. Don't want to hurt my sore head.

Then I reassert myself: "Mum, it's not just him. It's this generation of men. They all help out more with childcare, the house."

"Even so," says Granny, in a certain tone of voice. "Even so. To have a man who'll get up every morning and look after your child, leaving you to sleep..... "

She used this exact annoying tone years ago, obliquely reproaching me for some poor judgement in my love life via discussion of the novel Vanity Fair. This is what comes of both being English graduates. An end to direct communication. Everything couched via easy-to-misunderstand literary references.

Needless to say, she was enchanted when I met Jack (also, surely no coincidence, an English grad). The afternoon I first took him to meet her, he bounded down the pathway to her house, huge bouquet of flowers and chocolates in his hands, desire to please writ large on his eager, honest brow. She almost visibly melted.  I could see the relief in her eyes that I'd picked a good 'un.

Three years later, and in between the chaos of looking after the Bean, both of us working, me trying to get established again professionally and keeping up with friends, I do forget to be grateful for how much he does to help me. It's easier to pick holes in his bottle-warming technique than remember to be grateful he does it all in the first place, even if it's not quite to my personal specifications.

Then this morning an article in The Times "Need a child-friendly dad? Then get divorced" reminded me to count my blessings. The writer of the article made the sad claim that divorced women get more support from their children's fathers than married ones do, saying many married dads spend more time at the office than they need to because it's less exhausting than the bath-and bed-time rigmarole at home. How grim.

So, for the record, I am grateful that Jack doesn't mind getting up early with the Bean, often around 6am, to supervise her loading and unloading items from various receptacles she's commandeered for her corner of the kitchen: waste-paper bin; laundry basket, computer packaging. A couple of mornings last week she was so tired by this ritual that no sooner had Jack gone to work than she was ready for a nap, meaning I got to lie in until 9am. Even I can't find anything to complain about in that.

Posted 23 June 2007 12:50

Childcare Dads Daughter Dilemmas Domestic chaos Husband

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