PAT McDERMOTT:
daddy day care
Our eldest son, Patrick, is on paternity leave and loving it. “I get to look after the baby all day,” he explained. The MOTH (The Man of the House) watched, fascinated, as Patrick deftly popped our new grandson, Finnegan, into a baby carrier.
The two of them were going to buy a newspaper and coffee. Finn gurgled happily and kicked his chubby legs with excitement.
“You can have a ‘babycino’ but you’re too little for a marshmallow,” Patrick told him solemnly. We had this discussion yesterday.” Finnegan looked unconvinced.
“Isn’t that lovely?” I said to the MOTH as the door closed behind father and son.
“I like the baby carrier,” the MOTH admitted. “You can hold a beer and a baby at the same time. Too bad they weren’t around when our kids were little.”
I tried to imagine the MOTH wearing a baby and couldn’t.
The MOTH left for the office at 8am sharp every morning. He’d ruffle the hair on five little heads and tell everyone to be good for mummy. Then he’d sprint down the hall, fending off runny noses and Vegemite-y fingers. He didn’t tell me to “have a nice day” because that expression hadn’t been invented yet.
Our first child was about to start school. On Day One Reagan wore her new school uniform and new school shoes. She had a sandwich and an apple in her lunch box, and a lucky pebble in her pocket.
On Day Two she told me other people had mandarins in their lunch boxes. I immediately bought six mandarins.
On Day Three she said everybody had 24 coloured pencils. She only had 12. I bought more pencils.
On Day Four she brought home a note.
Please remember to include ‘little lunch’ in Reagan’s school bag each day.
– Dorothy Fogarty, Headmistress. “Miss Fogarty gives me biscuits from the teachers’ biscuit tin but there’s none left,” Reagan said at the dinner table.
“You didn’t pack ‘little lunch’?” gasped the MOTH.
“What’s ‘little lunch’?”
“Morning tea for kids. You trade your boring stuff for other kids’ boring stuff and eat it fast so you can run around throwing balls and pushing people.”
In my defence I grew up in blizzardly cold Canada. We didn’t have little lunch. We had winter.
You’d be surprised how difficult it is to peel a banana when you’re wearing mittens. It’s even harder to go to the toilet.
A few weeks ago our children were all home at the same time. They found the MOTH’s secret stash of good wine and sat up late talking. The next morning I found a handwritten list tacked to the fridge. It’s the Top 10 things they say I said when they were growing up.
1. You are not allowed to watch TV while I write your essay. Sit beside me and pretend to be interested.
2. Was there a fire? Because your clothes smell of smoke.
3. Who’s the person sleeping on the sofa? 4. Have you been drinking?
5. You’re tired. Go to bed.
6. You’re late! Get up.
7. What happened to the $20 I gave you yesterday?
8. There’s nothing wrong with your black dress/suit/shirt/tie/shoes.
9. Don’t worry. Things will seem even worse in the morning.
10. Well where do you think you left the car?
And I thought they never listened.