‘MY NEW LIFE AS A STAY-AT-HOME HUSBAND’

Ilike to think of myself as a hands-on dad. But as in all great partnerships, specialisations have evolved. Like Simon and Garfunkel, one of us has to write the music and the lyrics and also sing most of it, while the other one has to be slightly taller and try not to get in the way too much. Usually there’s something approximating a harmony.

My contributions involve all of the male staples, such as selflessly eating the kids’ semidigested leftovers and reaching high things, as well as a new niche one: dealing with unscheduled emissions of any kind from the children.

Yet when I have sole charge of the kids it tends to be for one-off events, which affords me certain parental luxuries. Taking the sixyear-old out of school for a routine hospital appointment recently, we sneaked off for a lunch of burger and chips. We swore each other to secrecy and he leaned over to me and whispered: “Daddy, we have to get better at not telling Mummy things.”

But coronavirus has upended everything. Before, I served under a form of benign dictatorship. Rosa enjoyed complaining about the mental load, but I think deep down she knew that with great responsibility came great power. The occasions when I’ve tried to lighten the load have ordinarily led to martial, marital law being reasserted in short order. (Her: “I have to work so what are you cooking us tonight?” Me: “Well, I’m calling it psycho-puttanesca.” Her: “No, we’re not having that.”)

Now our tightly scripted duet has been turned into a sort of free-form jazz that I’m supposed to be composing as we go along. I’m not bereft of ideas, I’m just not convinced many will survive the presidential veto. A suggestion that I teach our six-yearold Portuguese has already been quashed on the grounds that it will interfere with the French lessons my wife ambitiously has in store (in fairness, my plan could also have been quashed on the grounds that I don’t speak Portuguese).

My suggestion that an out-of-work friendof-a-friend gives our kids drama lessons over the internet was approved in the careworn manner of a veteran CEO allowing the youngsters fresh out of business school freedom to make their own mistakes.

I think she’ll be OK with cricket in the back garden for PE, and science experiments involving out-of-date baking powder, but I haven’t broached the subject of my pioneering plan to teach Irish history through Lego.

Ultimately, though, this ordeal makes me realise how lucky I have been. I have rarely had to think about the logistics of how to engage, entertain, educate and feed our children. An entire social framework

– yes, darling, a patriarchal one – has been temporarily dismantled. Maybe being reacquainted with certain realities will help all of us reassemble it in a way that’s better for everyone.

And in six months’ time we’ll all be fluent in Portuguese. Just you wait.