The woman leans over and rubs my husband’s arm conspiratorially, her long brown curls brushing against his sleeve.
‘Are you… similar “A good father,” she whispers, delighted.
My husband – bless his heart – has no qualms about flattering him a little. He clears his throat modestly and takes a sip of gin and tonic, careful not to let the condensation from his glass fall on the head of our six-month-old baby, who is sleeping peacefully in the baby carrier strapped to his chest.
I, meanwhile, try with all my might to keep my eyes from rolling.
What has this model done to earn so much praise and some adoring glances from other women at this party full of colleagues and their families?
Nothing, apart from raising your own child visibly and competently.
I was not at all surprised by the recent scientific “discovery” that women find men more attractive when they are seen with a child. Apparently it is a biological thing: holding the baby makes him seem like a reliable and stable provider.
The woman leans over and rubs my husband’s arm conspiratorially, her long brown curls brushing against his sleeve.
My own background research, conducted at suburban barbecues, local parties and many, many weddings, has proven this beyond a doubt. As soon as my husband picks up one of our two young children, he becomes the focus of women’s attention.
The most magnetically attracted are women who do not have children of their own, but who are not totally opposed to the idea.
They giggle flirtatiously as he tosses our beaming toddler into the air. They smile indulgently as he juggles melted ice cream, a packet of baby wipes and a sticky Sophie the Giraffe teether.
They ask fascinated questions about how everything is going, inviting long confiding in you about the joys and struggles of parenthood.
And that’s exactly what happens when I’m with him.
When our youngest daughter was very small, he would occasionally take the two girls out for walks while I napped. His “dedication” to his daughters became the talk of the street, while he would come home telling stories of how he had “spoken” to some “lovely” woman during his travels.
I have no doubt that other parents have noticed this effect as well.
How do I know? Because it gives rise to a phenomenon I call the show pony dad, where a man is ostentatiously brilliant with his children when he is out of the house, as a result of which he is immediately showered with praise.
Who can blame them? That kind of attention is intoxicating.
At garden parties, you’ll find pony parents gathered in loose groups, each with at least one child in their arms or dangling in the air from their torso.
They eat one-handed while bouncing adorable babies to sleep, organize intricate treasure hunts to “keep the kids entertained,” or laughingly lift children onto their shoulders to play battles with other parents.
Infinitely patient, jovial and fair. similar good fun.
Meanwhile, mothers – who, thanks to the pressures of our still-unequal society, are almost inevitably the ones doing most of the hard work behind the scenes – might be upset about all this if we weren’t so grateful to have a break.
So we sit almost silently, glasses of rose in hand, staring blankly, wondering when one of the kids will start crying because they’ve been thrown too high or stepped on in a game that’s too competitive. Or if one of the parents will hurt their back.
As soon as my husband picks up one of our two young children, he becomes the focus of female attention.
It’s a lot like barbecuing. Cooking is another everyday chore that men have traditionally been more than happy to share, as long as they can do their share of the work outdoors, in a slightly more dangerous way, and all while receiving plenty of praise for a mediocre level of achievement.
Am I jealous? Look, my husband is a handsome man. His blonde beauty has always won him a fair share of admirers and he’s only getting better with age.
As we enter the gruelling years of parenthood, waistlines widen and hairlines recede all around us, but your commitment to exercise, self-control around chocolate chip cookies and genetic good fortune mean you stand out from the pack more than ever.
Plus, he’s actually a really good father.
But I also hope to be a good mother, although as soon as I interact with my children in public, it’s like I put on a cloak of invisibility.
Conversations happen around me like water flowing around a rock as I rub the crusty snot from my little nose or apply another layer of sunscreen.
Men without children don’t know what to say. Men with children just want to talk about anything other than other people’s children, which is fair enough. But they also seem to assume that’s all I have to talk about, which I don’t.
Maybe in a way I feel jealous, not of the women who flirt with my husband, but of the fact that he can be a father in public, without being belittled as a person.
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