Day 1 - the 9:30am coffee experience

A few rules. No talking about solids, shitty nappies, power chucks, cuteness, rolling over or any sort of milestone. Another rule, no debating the merits of modern parenthood and all the crap that generates thousands of research, books, magazine articles and parental angst. Final rule, don't believe everything I say and I might break my own rules.

All you need to know is that I am a 39 year old father of a 3 year old and a 6 month old. I am in charge of the kids Monday to Friday for six months while the wife works.

I can sense the first uncomfortable squirm from a few earth mothers from the stay at home brigade. But remember the rules, no comment. Instead, a few observations about life at the local cafe at 9:30am on a Monday morning:

Walking into the cafe with my 6 month old (the 3 year old has been left at home in front of the TV, a godsend for the lazy father), I am struck by a heaving mass of middle aged women dominating the two large tables. Frightening on a number of levels. The six month old, sensing my immediate discomfort lets out a high pitched wail that is unheard due to the incessant cackling of the aforementioned female middle aged coven.

Upon ordering a trim flat white and decamping to the table far away from the gossipping gaggle of ageing estrogen, I wonder what on earth they are doing in the cafe on a Monday morning? Don't these women have jobs, or worthwhile interest to pursue? What brings them together in such numbers? Ill informed conclusions as follows:

- Lesbian swingers reunion
- The weekly meeting for the advancement of sensible brown slacks
- A Mythbusters type extreme decibel in a cafe experiment

None of these seemed likely. As the six month started to cry even more loudly, one of the women glided past and commented that perhaps her and her friends might be talking a bit loudly. As I have been trained all my life to suppress spontaneous adverse social reactions, I smiled politely and raised my eyebrows. I departed soon after having guzzled, and not enjoyed, my trim flat white.

As I trudged home, one positive thing struck me. At no point did any of the horrendous throng of middle aged hawkettes stop to wonder what a bloke was doing with a little baby on a Monday morning. So accepted is the stay at home Dad (at least in Island Bay) that I was not given a second glance or thought by women who would have never seen such a thing in "their day". Excellent. I'll forgive them for this.