DaddyBlog: Is this your day?

~by Howard Mosley-Chalk

Is this your day: get up, get dressed, go to work, stay there until the agreed upon time, go home, engage in parental activities, put child to bed, go to bed yourself?

I’m sure that repetitive sequence is familiar for many people, particularly for fathers with a stay at home partner. And it is, unfortunately, my stripped-down, bare basics day. And although I don’t particularly dread going to work, or fear the next day being quite similar to the one before, it is a sequence that I’m working towards breaking.

I want to be a stay-at-home dad. Now that statement is often met with reactions including, “well, what will you wife do?” In answer I say that she’ll stay at home as well. It’s something that we’re both working towards, namely that I don’t have to leave each morning to ‘go to’ work. I’m a writer (obviously, you’re reading this) but I’m lucky enough to actually do it for a job. I do words for cash, by day at a York magazine, (in an office with a chair, desk and toilet that only employees can use) and by night thinking up things for imaginary people to say and do. Hopefully one day people will be able to read these things in a book which they paid money for. It is my aim (and Kendal’s too) that I will soon be working on a combination of these tasks from home.

No bus ride to the office, no hour for lunch, no being away from the family for nigh on ten hours a day – just home, with the wife and the kids (they’ve already been planned – I have no say in numbers) and the freedom to work as I want.

Head voice speaketh

But I'm a man – see my hairy chest and full beard– why the hell would I want to hang around the house all day with the sprogs and 'little lady'? What about my heroes? Do you think Isambard Kingdom Brunel spent all day with his Missus? No, he was out there in a top hat, looking at gaps and saying “Mmm, a bridge I think”. What about Emperor Hadrian – think he built all those walls while playing with his kids? No, he got amongst it, saying “Stick a wall there, a big one” and having homosexual sex. Don't I want to be like those men?

Yes. I like top hats and tall walls, but for me the world is a heavy place, one that can usually only be held aloft by pretending to be someone I'm not. That bearded guy that just bought four cans of fake Red Bull from the lady in the Co-op, casually joking about the sudden downpour of rain... not really me. Look, it's Howard, he's chatting to his neighbour. He's using his open, friendly face and nodding when the other person speaks... not me. Sometimes I wish I could just get on with the day, be it productive or not, without having to channel the character acting skills of Daniel Day-Lewis. Zero pretence and bullshit – that's what being at home is. Kendal knows me without my 'job-interview mask' on and seems to still love me. Which I'm both grateful for and a little surprised by.

Improving and planning

Put simply, working from home would make me a better, more productive person. I am unfortunately the kind of chap who can get rather grumpy if external forces beyond my control put pressure on my time. By staying at home each day to write I'll never be wasting time in pleasing the people that are further down my list of concerns. Ultimately everything I'm doing, be it working on the novel or planning to invade Jersey, I'm doing for 'them indoors'. We're an Unschooling family after all and we live by those principles; have done in fact since Ava was born. It makes complete sense that both Kendal and I should be present during the day, not only for Ava's sake but also for our own. We both respect the fact that we each have our own projects and interests to pursue, those that might not necessarily fit in with Ava's day. By double-teaming it, by having the flexibility of me not being out of the house from 8am to 6pm, we are able to give each other some time and space.

So, using the medium of the internet via words, I shall describe to you just what I think about when dreaming of the days to come; days in which the words 'commute', 'meeting' and 'sexual harassment investigation' are alien.

The Ideal Day (or A Look Into One Possible Future)

We get up whenever we want. Except on days that end with the letter 'y', in which we get up when Ava wants. This is usually around 6am and to a dawn chorus of “Gass of milt! Gass of milt!” We get Ava some milk. Then as the early morning progresses, we have breakfast as a family, never watching the clock, never rushing through the task of making oatmeal and tea and coffee and toast.

At some point in the morning, possibly even as the afternoon beckons, I ascend to my study to do some writing. In this version of the future, my study was once Kendal's hallowed craft room. I won the space from here after an extremely brutal game of Monopoly - a game of which I'd previously hidden my total mastery, always leading the wife to think I thought it was dull. I bankrupted the crap out of her – so now the room is mine.

Anyway, after a few hours clickety clicking on the old 'puter, no doubt adding the finishing touches to my magnum opus in which an autistic boy... I don't know, fights dragons or summut, I come back down to join the family for lunch. We head out to the park with a picnic (its July, right now in the future) and we spend some time with the children/robots (depending how far in the future this is) exploring outside and generally being 'unschooly'.

Home. More writing. Maybe the dragon learns a vital lesson about love. More play time with the kiddies. Dinner. Story time. Bed. Repeat the next day in a completely different and refreshing order.

Nice, eh? That's the dream anyway, one that seems to be asserting itself over the current reality a little more each day. But although I'm full of dreams, I'm also a person who is tragically ruled by logic. That is why, although the above is the desired future - the life-goal - it hasn't stopped me imagining a alternate possibility; one in which I am still working from home, but in more challenging circumstances. Namely, after nuclear war tears a hole in the fabric of existence. And so...

The Ideal Post Apocalyptic Day

We get up when we want. Mostly because we haven't slept - not since the Octo-wolves got a taste for human blood and we must stand guard all night. Ava declares she wants a “Gass of milt” and tenderly extends a purple tentacle to receive her drink. I nod, utter “Okay” and head out back to milk one of the colloso-bees. We have breakfast in the bunker because between 6 and 9 am is when the demons roam the dining room. We never rush. We can't, its -5 degrees Celsius down there.

I head up to my study to write. On opening the door I discover the study has fallen into the nth dimension. I close the door and tut. I sit on the toilet and type out chapter 23 of my picture book for the blind on my phone.

For lunch we head out to the park. Its the only area of open land not yet claimed by the clam people. Ava plays in the pond. At the bottom of the pond. Kendal comments that she's surprised how quickly Ava's gills have come in and how hopefully this means the end of nightly calpol doses.

While Kendal strips to the waist, daubs herself in Celtic blue and hunts squirrels with her teeth, I head to Costa to do a bit of writing. I order a latte, sit back and get cracking in relaxing, tranquil surroundings (n.b. Costa Coffee survived the apocalypse due to their espresso's high lead content which helped shield them from the initial blasts. Plus all the staff have horns).

We return home. Its fallen into the void. We tut. Story time. Bed. Repeat the next day in a completely different and terrifying order.

I've also made a plan for the eventually that Ava turns out to be the new Jesus, but won't include it here. Suffice to say, it's amazing.

DaddyBlog: Bedsharing

~by Howard

Once upon a time I could spread out like a king in my king-size. I would curl around the missus whenever the fancy took, lie in until the PM on weekends and generally be Lord of Bedfordshire. You see, for me, bed had always been a refuge – a safe haven into which I would retreat when the rigours of the world became too great. When all around me was chaos I knew that at the end of the day I would return to my feather-padded fortress of solitude and commune with the spirits of sleep. All that changed in the autumn of 2010 – along with most other things in my life.

It went like this: Our daughter, Ava, was born. Then some stuff happened. Then Kendal said “We’re a bedsharing family,” – vocal confirmation that the discussion we’d been having for several months would in fact become a reality. And so the fortress fell, resigned to 15-Tog legend, whispered guiltily by other ousted fathers. Yes, we sleep with our baby; have done for nigh on two years now. And despite my colourfully imagined losses and sarcastic moans whenever someone mentions it, I would not change it for the world.

Put simply, the highlight of each day is cuddling up in bed with our sleepy warm cherub. The bliss I experience through bed sharing is indescribable – as joyful and eventful as the journey that got us here.

Kendal, of course, did all the research. When it comes to any baby/lifestyle/decorating decisions, my wife will attack the subject with vehemence, scouring the internet, inhaling books and questioning those in the know, Gestapo fashion. And so, with a newly-born Ava held tightly to her chest, Kendal pointed out (with a smirk) that although the mother is instantly attuned to the baby’s movements and is completely aware of it in bed, it can take up to six months for the father to adjust. Fearing the next half year sleeping on the sofa, she then went on to ease my worries by playing piggy in the middle – namely, she would sleep between me and Ava until my inferior male brain caught up and wouldn’t confuse Ava’s little sleeping form with an extra pillow, fold her in half, and stuff her under my head.

So there we were; book-ending Kendal with Ava protected on the far side by a bed guard. It was designed to stop her rolling out of bed, out of the bedroom door, along the landing, down the stairs, out of the front door and into the street where she would invariably join the circus. Apparently (so I am told) my awareness of our new little sleeping buddy kicked in quick, and I would often wake in the middle of the night to gently rock Kendal, whispering “there, there baby.” In no time at all I had passed the test and for the first time in several years I could lie in bed and peer into the eyes of another woman.

To begin with, the amount of sleep Kendal and I managed to get varied – I got a full, uninterrupted eight hours each night, whereas Kendal averaged two or three. Looking back, it’s difficult not to feel a pang of guilt, and certainly at the time I pitied Kendal’s disrupted slumber. It was those lovely boobies, however, now constantly within Ava’s reach, that caused the lack of sleep. Ava was a baby that certainly ‘got milk’, and fed near-constantly from Kendal, especially when her breasts were so accessible.

Fortunately everything quickly stabilised, to the point where Ava will now happily sleep all on her own prior to us joining her in bed. The issue of Ava’s increasing size has not been an issue at all, thanks to the clever positioning of an open-sided cot, lashed to the side of the bed, into which she will (sometimes) gravitate during sleep, leaving Kendal and I (sometimes) with the bed proper.

For a time we toyed with the idea of creating a super-bed – two king-size mattresses laid out together on the floor of the bedroom. It’s something many bedsharing families ultimately invest in, particularly those with an increasing number of offspring, and its not difficult to see why. Ava might only be two feet tall and weigh as much as one of my legs, but when stretched out in crepuscular comfort, she don't half take up a lot of space, guv. She has a tendency of lieing perpendicular to Kendal and I, jabbing her little tootsies into our ribs and being difficult to shift (her nocturnal weight apparently ten times what it normally is). Considering Kendal has designs on at least four more little Mosley-Chalks joining us in the family bed, I think I better start shopping around for mattresses.

Of course, there were and still are nay-sayers. “It’s not safe,” declared some, “you’ll roll onto her and crush her!” This causes the grumpy old Darwinian in me to grumble and emphatically point out that bedsharing is nothing new. Human evolution has done pretty well for itself over the past 20 million years, which is about 19,999,450 years longer than the cot has existed. Occupying the same space as our children while sleeping is as natural as the need to breathe air and ingest nutrition. “But,” continue those same people, still clinging to ideals formulated during the Victorian era – a time when one's children were of less importance than one's hat, “how do you both… you know?” 

“What?” I ask.

“You know, how do you… have sex?”

I immediately break open my Big Boy’s Book of Human Anatomy and point to the crude yet strangely erotic drawing on page 64. “We know how you have sex,” they say, “but how do you do it if your baby is sleeping in the same bed?” At which point the anatomy book is put away and the Kama Sutra (pocket edition) is produced. If you are unable to conceive of having ‘mummy and daddy time’ anywhere other than your bed, then I pity you and will not be responding to that swinging party invitation. Also, sex is not restricted to the hours between 9pm and 6am when your Little might be sleeping soundly in the bed. “Sky rockets in flight, BOOM – afternoon delight.”

But this isn’t for us. We don’t sleep with Ava just to hear the random things she says first thing in the morning; we bedshare for her. The list of benefits is as long as the reasons are obvious. The connection created between mother and baby and (more importantly for we of the Y-chromosome) father and baby by sleeping together is immeasurable. Sure, I could wax lyrical about the scientific explanations, citing circadian rhythms and parent/infant synchrony ad infinitum, but the glaring fact is that any time spent in close physical proximity to your child (be it while conscious or not) is going to strengthen your bond. 

Only the other evening Ava, while sleeping next to Kendal, reached out a tentative hand and gently touched her Mama’s face. Once satisfied she was there, our still sleeping Little rolled into Kendal’s arms and stayed there for the rest of the night. For Ava bed sharing is certainty, security and the constant loving embrace of family – and in our case, a family so completely in tune that we will find one another even in our sleep.

(Yes, that's a dribble spot on the pillow)