For me one of hardest parts of Home-Dadding is the inevitable reduction in adult interaction. I'm still lucky in that regard - the Northern Dad's Group, the powerlifting club and a weekly gym session with ex-workmates at my joint gives the chance to converse with people who have the ability to listen, understand and respond with sentences a little more involved than "Hey Daddy, how did the popcorn get in Lewis' pants?" Still, it's nowhere near the amount of adult contact I had while working full time.
The interesting thing about this reduction in adult contact is that you notice how reliant on it you are. Small titbits from your day, when not shared with someone on a similar wavelength, seem to become a lot more mentally consuming then they should be. An article in the newspaper, which would just require a 'hey, did you hear about that car crash over in...' to be released from your cranium, sits with you for a lot longer than necessary. A funny incident that could be shared or relayed to an adult immediately, instead becomes something that you have to hold on to until you can tell 'so-and-so'.
The big problem is that a day, or even a few days in some cases, without seeing a familiar adult can lead to a build up of pressure that becomes almost unmanageable. If you don't release it through unconventional means (the photo above was taken while the kids were asleep and I was alone with a clown uniform and a tripod) the minute someone of age walks through the door your head will explode like a pressured 'phoofer-valve' and release a tirade of talk detailing the most useless of past happenings.
It's funny, I used to think that women with children talked a lot because of some hormonal overload. I can tell you it has less to do with hormones and more to do with isolation and a slow build up of pressure. Case in point - a mate of mine recently told me how he gets home and his wife just doesn't stop talking for an hour. I said, 'Yeah, I do that when Reservoir Mum gets home'. He then began arbitrarily picking at a scab on his elbow.
The ironic thing is that this is exactly what Lewis and Archie do to me - follow me around talking non-stop for hours about things that I find entertaining for a maximum of five minutes. It seems that hanging out with four-year-olds turns you into a four-year-old.
So, anyway, (now that you've probably gained some insight into the rise of Mummy and Daddy blogging) I have penned this post because I received an email from a pharmaceutical company and I just have to share it with someone who 'gets it'. I'm going to pretend that I just opened it, alright? Here we go...
Hey, you, check out the title of this email. Haha! -
The Power In Your Pants Will Be Really Breath-taking.
There. That's better. Now I can delete it. Where's my camera?