Sacrifices

In September I started a new job and took the decision to drop down to four working days per week, in order to spend more time with Ted. I was planning to do this back in April when he was due to start nursery, but then lockdown happened, so I delayed the change (and then quit that job!). Now I’ve had a couple of months of this change, I thought I’d reflect on how it’s been so far.

Obviously my first consideration was money: I’d be taking a 20% pay cut to do this. Nursery isn’t cheap but no spreadsheet was going to make this look like a smart decision financially. On the other hand, having spent six months caring for Ted for half of every working day, I couldn’t imagine going back to only spending evenings and weekends with him. You don’t get this time again, and even if he won’t remember the days we’re spending together, the development he’s getting and the skills we’re both building are, well, priceless.

Next I had to figure out logistics: Maddy is doing something similar, so what days should we take off? In the end I have Fridays off while she takes Mondays. Bank holidays can make things slightly confusing, and weekends can feel a bit long at times, but for the most part the hardest thing was configuring my work calendar so people can’t book events with me on a Friday.

Work was brilliant about it (shoutout to my head of department who’s a fellow parent and was completely up for my proposal when I accepted the job – thanks John!) but I was in an easier position as I was negotiating a new role anyway. In fairness to my former employer, they were great about it too when I approached them at the end of 2019. You’re legally entitled to request flexible working, and my previous workplace were equally supportive for me to make this change, provided I outlined how my responsibilities would be covered on my non-working days.

After I’d done all the calculations and legwork it was time for my first full day as a stay-at-home dad, which was the part I’d thought about least. I’d had a good six months of half days with Ted, handing over to Maddy after lunch, but hadn’t done many solo days. The realisation that I was going to have to find things to keep us entertained and stimulated was briefly daunting.

I remember the first of these days got off to a rocky start as Ted threw his breakfast all over the floor and had a tantrum because I wouldn’t give him a third banana. Maddy—quite smugly, I thought—bid us goodbye as she headed upstairs to work, and I was left to scrub yoghurt out of the carpet, bitterly calculating how much every minute of this was costing me.

This quickly passed though and I’ve found myself growing into my new three-day weekends. I’ve tried to branch out from my time-filling lockdown old reliables (long walks in the park, taking Ted to do the big shop at Sainsbury’s, etc) and to try to add some structure and learning to it all. Last Friday I set up a big cardboard box as a canvas and we painted on it and covered it in stickers (and snot). The Friday before I took him into the city centre to visit Birmingham Museum & Art Gallery and we spent an enjoyable hour shouting into big echoey rooms and looking at big portraits of posh Elizabethans.

At this age—he’s eighteen months—it seems like he learns a new word or concept every day. And it continues to stagger me how much he understands: I’ll ask him to do something or point to an object or sing a song, and he’ll just do it, completely confident. Nursery is surely helping with this and he’s learning tons there, and I can’t imagine not being present for this part of his development, and guiding it myself too.

I read a book during Maddy’s pregnancy recommended by my friend (and expert dad) Dave called Parentology. It’s a weird book and the author, a professor of sociology, performs a bunch of social experiments on his kids (giving them weird names, throwing them into situations like dinners with former prime ministers etc). One bit stuck with me: the author researches the impact on putting his kids through private school. His conclusion from the academic studies is essentially this: by the time a kid reaches school age, the indicators that signify whether or not they’ll go on to be successful in life are already in place. A smart kid will do well in a below-average school or a top-ranking one, whereas a kid who hasn’t been nurtured and supported will struggle even if you send them to, say, Eton (to pick a random example).

I mention this because it’s the thing that’s keeping me on track with this sacrifice. I’m giving up a decent chunk of cash to spend this time with an often indifferent toddler, and there are definitely times when he’s being difficult when I wish I was back at my desk working in peace. But then he’ll look at me and say “dad, book!”, or we’ll share a genuine laugh together (possibly because he’s just loudly farted and realised it’s funny), and I’ll remember just how important this time is – for both of us.