I never thought that I'd be revelling in changing nappies, watching a baby throw his food everywhere and all the other joys of motherhood n the months leading up to my 50th birthday but I am loving it. The Mrs is away for a few days "working" and returns to full time work in ten days, in as much as that is not a contradiction in terms in the public sector and especially on liberal arts campuses. And so, right now I am the sole carer for nine months old Joshua and in ten days time I will become the primary carer. I am such a fucking feminist - I am almost tempted to chuck in work altogether and then go for a divorce taking the Mrs to the cleaners saying that I had to quit my job to look after Joshua. Only kidding.
Of course changing nappies is not really fun. All that stuff about how its okay if it is your kid's shit is just horse. Shit is shit and when he pees on you as you change it makes no odds that it is your kid's pee.
The only thing I really do not like is dropping him off at nursery (where he currently goes two days a week). As I hand the little vermin - as he is known - over to a charming young lady he realises that i am heading off and starts screaming his head off. I remember the same thing happening 15 years ago with my Islington elitist liberal daughter Olaf. Of course when he sees you at the end of the day I know that he will have calmed down about 30 seconds after I left and the reunion is a joyous occasion.
The Mrs has left me a stern three pages of notes on routine, food, drink and other matters. The truth is that I have shown a bit of flexibility on the regime, okay I have ignored her notes almost completely, and Joshua and I have experimented with the food. Sometimes not by design. I tried to follow the instructions making his morning porridge today but the end result looked nothing like what the Mrs serves up. But the little vermin wolfed it all down, disaster became triumph. Maybe I have it right and the Mrs has it wrong? You never know.
Yesterday it was runner beans and cream cheese for the vermin. And he loved it. Tonight its broad beans and pasta for Joshua. Broad beans and salmon for his diabetic dad. All new experiences. And after supper a mad rush to tidy up three days of mess created by the three amigos (myself, Joshua and Oakley the Cat) before the return of the Mrs who will no doubt be expecting her supper to be ready as well.
Women, they just do not understand how hard we exploited house husbands have to work...
PS. As I mix with the "other mothers" and wander round with Joshua I am yet to hear the words I dread but which will come sooner or later - "how nice of you to look after your grandson"