I feel a bit of a fraud pushing Max around the streets of St Kilda (in his pram, I’m not literally physically pushing him, that would be wrong). There is that nagging feeling that I should be bringing home the metaphorical bacon or putting the figurative bread on the table. Sometimes mums walk past me and they look at Max, then look at me and seem to be trying to figure out what the connection is. “Look Jennifer, there’s a man with a pram and what looks to be a baby inside it, but how could this be?” “I don’t know Linda but perhaps the police should be informed?”
I had a situation the other day at the library (lots of my situations take place in the library or the swings these days), there were a group of mums doting over their little bundles of joy. I made eye contact, offered up a little dad joke, registered what I thought was genuine laughter and then tried to join their inner circle – the circle closed quicker than you could say “go and get a job and leave this stuff to the pro’s”.
It’s taken lots of time for me to adjust to my new role and realise that I am extremely fortunate to be doing something incredible. I allow myself a bit more credit now, I have such an amazing bond with this little man and I am in the fortunate position of witnessing all the bits and pieces that are thrown together to make him Max (nose picking and handing clapping are the flavours du jour). Stay At Home Dads (it doesn’t help my argument that the acronym is SAHD) the next time you find yourself longing to be crunching numbers in the office, enjoying a beer with your mates or holding up your end in an adult conversation, just remember it’s probably the best job in the world.
** Disclaimer – not all mums look at me like I am a gender bending baby thief