Redundancy Daddies

Obviously I tell the husband that my days pass by in a blur of baby related/domestic activity which is why I am never on top of the cleaning, always running out of milk and never up to date with filing the bank statements.

I stress I never have a minute to myself, or even a chance to sit down, and therefore hide the well thumbed Grazia in the laundry bag!

Yesterday was no exception - I set up my blog and then spent the rest of the day in the park with the girls. Obviously this sort of housewifely activity was bliss,and makes up for the sleepless nights. The darling little monkey was perfectly well behaved, with very little crying activity going on and looking particularly cute in her new pink and white summer trousers, which co-ordinated beautifully with the new Bugaboo colours (ebay bargain, less than 50% RRP).

After a civilised picnic, which was finished with strawberries dipped in chocolate spread, we had a stroll around the park admiring the blossoms. And after these strenuous activities we retired to a cafe in the village for a well earned refreshment. It was at this point, from our people watching pavement perch, that I noticed an alarming trend.

The village itself gives no outward signs of any credit crunch impact. Shops are not vacant, there are very few 50% off signs, (which is probably because in the boutiques even at half price the clothes are still unaffordable to mere mortals) and the cafes and restaurants are still overflowing. There was only one hint that all was not well in la la land, the number of well dressed daddies pushing buggies.

Now maybe it was just that they were all rather dashingly attractive and that is why we noticed them, or maybe they had taken an inpromptu opportunity to enjoy the sun and have a long staycation bank holiday, but we came to the conclusion that they were in fact the first wave of Redundancy Daddies, enjoying their time off from their (presumably) finance related job.

The realisation of this potential new phenomenon sent shivers down my spine.

So far the husband has kept his head down and survived the numerous culls over the last six months at the Scottish bank (I think the fact he doesn't receive the six figure bonuses means he is not a prime target). But the idea of him at home the whole time is a truly terrifying prospect.

Quite apart from the financial implications (and they would be significant) - he might actually discover that on these sunny days (the first of many?), far from the life of domestic drudgery I claim, I am in fact having the life of Riley. Then how do I explain the lack of ironed shirts on a Monday morning?