An excursion

At the end of last year Miss I went on exchange to Wagga. By this I simply mean she attended a childcare centre there for a week. Mr G was working there at the time so it wasn't totally arbitrary. Her Sydney childcare closed the week before Christmas and because I was having two weeks off from Christmas we needed to fill the gap for one week. We tossed around a few options before Mr G made a few phone calls and discovered there was a childcare centre just opposite his work and they had a spot for her that week. He was thrilled. I was thrilled. And if we're both thrilled, so is Miss I. Sort of.

Now I have asked Mr G to pen a post on the experience but, alas, it hasn't been forthcoming. So you're stuck with me and my version of events for now. For me the week was blissful. I woke up on Monday morning and literally mooched around while getting ready for work. So much time! So little hustling! I had a few mid-week dinner outings with friends, I did a spot of late night Christmas shopping, I stayed at my desk beyond 5.01pm and relished being unshackled from parental responsibilities for a few days.

At that point I had been carrying the mother load singlehandedly for two months so it was a welcome (deserved, even?) change of speed. I should also say that in those two months no one, but no one, asked with abject horror "But where is her father?" You might guess where this is heading.

For clarity, Mr G is Miss I's father and has been for exactly the same amount of time that I've been her mum. As far as I'm aware neither one of us holds formal qualifications for this parenting gig. It's been strictly learn on the job training. However judging by the reactions of some of Mr G's co-workers, patients and acquaintances you would be forgiven for thinking I hold a PHD in responsible, adequate and engaging parenting whilst he's incapable of securing a diploma in anything child-related. For the record, those scenarios are equally implausible. Mr G was almost as surprised as I was but these were the most common refrains he addressed throughout his week of active service. Helpfully, I've included suggested answers.

"But where is the mother??"
I think she said this week she's smoking crack, stealing cars and generally terrorising the streets. Same old really. I mean what else would a mother do if she didn't have a child in her care?

"How long do you have to look after her for?"
I haven't seen a contract so I'm not sure if there's an end date. Possibly forever?

"Aren't you too young to have a baby??"
Have you ever watched the reality television program "16 and Pregnant"?


No one meant any harm by these questions but Mr G and I did laugh quite a bit. Naturally afterwards I also spent plenty of time thinking about it too. People of different ages, genders, backgrounds and professions were genuinely baffled that Mr G would look after our daughter for a week. And that genuinely baffled me. What about you?