“A massive injustice has been served here.
It’s a work day for me, and of course it’s the day where the Little Poppet is a little bit ill.
‘She’s fine in herself, but what will the nursery think of me as a mother if I dropped her off like this?! They will think I’m neglectful!’ I say, as if I’m surprised that it’s 2019 and I’m being judged on my parenting.
‘I’ve got to go to work,’ I say. ‘I can’t have another day off. She had her 15-month review last week which I had to book off, and the week before that I was ill myself… I have to go,’ I exclaim, hoping that Daddy will notice the desperation in my voice.
‘Well, I can’t have a day off,’ says Daddy. ‘I’m very busy and important and work full time which makes me exempt from this shared parental responsibility, does it not?’
Daddy is a full time benighted bell end and is going to learn a hard lesson today.
‘You need to stay at home with the Little Poppet. It’s as simple as that. I also have a job that I spend more time being off on authorized absence than sitting at my quiet desk talking to someone who doesn’t wear a nappy!’
I’m not really making a strong case here. The sheer panic of having my hot coffee time taken away is setting in.
‘Just chill, everything will be alright,’ Daddy dares to say. ‘This is not ideal for me, but I will save the day and stay at home with the Little Poppet.’
Wow. What a life prize I have in this unsung hero.
At least I only have the mum guilt to feel anxious about today.
I can’t wait for Daddy to finally realize that staying at home to look after the Little Poppet isn’t all about box sets and playtime.
I don’t wish an awful, mind numbingly disaster of a day on him, but a day with no naps should suffice.
My phone pings.
‘She’s just fallen asleep in my arms. Shall I carry her up to bed or leave her sleep,’ it says.
Lunchtime. My phone pings again. It’s the Stay at Home Daddy.
‘She’s just woken from a two-hour nap. What should I give her for lunch?’
Of course she has.
I tell the SAHD that she likes organic cheese toasties and to bite 8 different apples once and if he had paid any attention to lunchtimes in the last 6 months she also likes the pre-made pouches of baby food that we have 30 of in the cupboard.
Another text.
‘I can’t find the pouches.’
I try and be as helpful and as encouraging as possible.
‘Use your eyes and limbs,’ I reply.
Three hours go by and I haven’t had any texts demanding me to come home this instant.
I call his phone.
No answer.
I call again.
Still, no answer.
He’s probably in a corner waving a white flag whilst the Little Poppet launches mushed bananas at him and pretty wooden toys that are instead used as weapons, all whilst smearing dried Mini Wheats everywhere.
That’ll show Daddy for being so willfully ignorant to the world of staying at home with feral toddlers.
I walk through the door at just past 5:30 in the afternoon. I could have been home earlier but I decided to sit in the car outside the house for five minutes and scroll through Pinterest.
‘Hello? I’m home! Peace is now restored!’ I declare.
‘We are in here,’ shouts Daddy.
Jesus Christ. I can’t even see the carpet, let alone any sign of household maintenance being done today.
I walk through an ocean of toys and books with the flaps ripped out to find Daddy and the Little Poppet hidden amongst thrown sofa cushions.
‘What the heck is going on? Have we been robbed? Why aren’t you crying in the corner?!’
Daddy reels off all the lovely things that have happened today to make looking after the Little Poppet an ‘absolute delight’ and ‘easy peasy’ and how much he’d ‘rather stay at home with her everyday than go to work’.
But the laundry.
The hoovering.
The dishes.
The dinner prep.
‘This is not the same!’ I shout, almost blacking out from the injustice of it all. ‘You haven’t lived a day in my life at all!’
‘How haven’t I?’ says Daddy, just as the Little Poppet walks over and gently kisses him on the head.
‘Were you followed from room to room all day? Did you juggle thoughts of doing the laundry or doing nothing at all for five minutes? Did she throw three different variations of lunch all over the carpet? Did you even ONCE contemplate bringing bath and bed forward to 3pm?!’ I hope he knows CPR.
‘Gosh no, my precious Little Poppet hasn’t done any of those things. We’ve had a lovely, relaxing day at Nanny’s, haven’t we Poppet?’ says Daddy, proud as punch. ‘And I know you like to do the laundry.’
HE WENT TO HIS MOTHERS?!
‘And now I’m just going to take five,’ he says, walking through the trail of destruction to the toilet.
That’s funny. I forget how to count to ten…”
This story was submitted to Love What Matters by June of Lady Mama-lard. You can follow her journey on Instagram here. Submit your own story here and be sure to subscribe to our free email newsletter for our best stories.
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