How Much Do You Really Do?

On 50:50 parenting, sharing the load of childcare, holding yourself to account, and learning to be a team.

“Do you think you do more parenting than me?”

I stop everything. The internal warning light is flashing amber. Rebecca is asking me a question. She could be making conversation about the shared experience of raising a family and the roles we both fulfil. Or she might be trying to make a point. I must tread with caution.

Fortunately, my wife and I quite like each other. If either of us isn’t pulling our weight, we tend to make it clear. And if she wants to make a point, she doesn’t generally have to do it with a delicate sideways question.

There’s an abundance of research showing men have a habit of overestimating the amount of parenting and housework they do. When you add up the actual man hours worked, we tend to think we work a lot more than we actually do.

It could be that my brothers in arms are just not that good at measuring stuff. I’ve gathered much anecdotal evidence through my dating history that the apps are packed with chaps who call themselves six foot when they’re closer to five-ten, with blokes who add an inch or two here or there. Maybe mankind just has a whimsical inclination towards overstatement.

Now I have no structural concerns about the volume of parenting labour I do as a newish dad to a six-month old and a stepdad to a four-year old. I enjoyed the privilege of taking almost half a calendar year away from work to care for our newborn. I have a fairly solid work ethic born of a family who consistently provided for me, were there at every turn for me, and schooling that instilled in me the idea that you get out what you put in. I know I do my share.

Nonetheless, I sidestepped the question with a politician’s flair. I decided instead to carry out my own audit.

We do the nights one on, one off. Eliza sleeps through the night remarkably well for now. She is in bed usually by half six, and goes all the way to around six in the morning, occasionally a fraction earlier. Whichever of us is on the night shift will tend to her if she wakes up during, then start the morning with her. In the summer this is a blissfully quiet moment, early sunshine flooding the kitchen, Eliza pink-cheeked, breezy and well-rested. But it’s still a shift of getting her changed, ready, feeding her, occupying her with a new activity every few minutes, then putting her back down for her first nap.

The one on, one off system is equitable. It works for us. You may recall the week-long frenzy earlier this year when the NYT published its provocative op-ed describing baby formula as “the secret to marriage equality”. Like most things I’ve discovered about parenting, this wound a lot of people up. Like most things I’ve discovered about parenting, it carries some truth, and it’s simultaneously a whole lot more complicated. But I wouldn’t be able to do this part of the job without the formula. So far, so fifty-fifty.

The domestic chores are split evenly. I do the mountains of laundry that with two kids pile up about forty-eight hours after I’ve turned over the last lot. Rebecca does all the cooking. I’m a particularly bad cook with no instinct in the kitchen and no real passion to do anything about it. I can heat up an oven pizza for Margot or make her a sandwich or put together a tasting platter of her favourite fruit and cheese. But anything more than that is going to fall on Rebecca. I’ll try to make up for it by cleaning everything up.

When it comes to logistics, I do all the driving. I usually get Margot to childcare in the morning, typically carrying her aloft on my actual shoulders to pre-school while yammering about trees and fairies and thunderstorms. (It smarts after about ten minutes but the admiring looks I get from passers-by make it all worth the graft.)

We have a convenient fiction that I’m the organised one. Yes, my to do list is the bible of our household, where I track social events, domestic tasks, sports days, open mornings, Rebecca’s meetings, and bills we have to pay. But Rebecca is the real planner. She by and large comes up with the weekend activities, the time-killing trips to the park or the soft-play or swimming or a gallery. This is in part a consequence of how we started. When our relationship got serious and I met Margot, the buck stopped with Rebecca. She had to do all the planning all the time. Though I contribute ideas and bring in friends with kids for playdates and birthday parties, she has always had to be the one driving this.

Our particular setup has consequences when it comes to learning about parenting and our relative levels of experience. Rebecca has already done the work of rearing a tiny baby once. She has accrued more hands-on knowledge than I have, and I find myself inevitably leaning on that every day. By definition therefore she does more. She knows what our November baby should be wearing in bed during a May Bank Holiday heatwave before I’ve even registered how bloody hot it is.

Knowing more means carrying more of the burden. This is a knot many co-parents tie themselves in. New mums and dads can start off with the very best of intentions. But if mum takes everything on, dad can fall behind. When dad goes back to work because he gets his statutory two weeks, he doesn’t gain the first-hand experience mum gets. Mum knows what classes to go to because she meets people and finds these things out. Mum knows what nappies to get, what foods he’s tried, what jabs she’s had. It’s on both partners to untie that knot.

I came out of my audit fairly satisfied, but conscious of one thing above all. Parenting is a team exercise, done right. It’s true—it takes a village. Some people do it all alone, a one-woman band. But for those that have it, family and friends and paid childcare are all necessary features of the baby-raising mural.

A good team needs its members active, available, and accountable. A good teammate doesn’t call it helping out. Ethan Ampadu doesn’t set Dominic Calvert-Lewin up for a poacher’s shot on goal and then put his feet up for the rest of the match (I know you’re all waiting for my next Substack on ‘What Leeds United Taught Me About Parenting’).

Do I think I do more parenting? No. Do I think I’m a key player in a successful team? Absolutely, yes.