Nobody Cares About Dad

Parenting is hard.

It’s the one thing that no book, no podcast, no “wise old parent” ever really prepares you for. Everyone tells you about the sleepless nights, the endless nappies, the back-chatting teenagers waiting down the line. But they never quite capture the relentless grind of it all.

And here’s the kicker: doing it on your own, even just for a stretch of time, is another level.

Because let’s be honest, men don’t always come wired with the same nurturing instincts as women. Maybe that’s controversial, but I’ve seen it first-hand. For a lot of blokes, we’ve been conditioned to play a role — go to work, bring home the money, dip in for the fun bits, and let mum manage the day-to-day chaos. That old picture of “the perfect family” where dad heads out in the morning with his briefcase and mum keeps the kids fed, clothed, and organised. It’s outdated, sure, but for plenty of households it still rings true.

So what happens when mum’s not there? Through circumstance, choice, illness, or even just a rare weekend away — suddenly it’s all on you. No safety net. No back-up. Just you and the kids, staring at each other like, “Right, what now?”

That’s when you realise it’s not the “keeping them alive” bit that’s hard. I can manage that (most of the time). It’s the relentless admin of childhood that breaks you. PE kits that need washing at 10pm because tomorrow is sports day. School trips that require a packed lunch. Clubs that always seem to start 15 minutes after rush hour begins. And don’t even get me started on birthday parties — every week there’s another invite, another present to buy, another two hours sat in a play centre trying to look like you’re enjoying yourself while secretly wondering if anyone would notice if you napped in the ball pit.

By bedtime, I’m done. I collapse on the sofa with the same question circling in my head: How do people do this every day without a break?

And that’s when you start to appreciate the importance of balance. The so-called nuclear family isn’t perfect, but when there are two of you in the mix, life runs a little smoother. The load is shared. Stress is halved. Even the smallest thing — someone else reminding you it’s “World Book Day” tomorrow before you end up sending your kid to school in their PE shorts — makes all the difference.

I’ve read the studies about how children from two-parent households tend to have better outcomes. I believe it. Not because single parents don’t do an incredible job (they absolutely do), but because life is simply easier when there’s another adult to shoulder the load. Kids pick up on that calm. They feel it.

When it’s just me and Leo, I see the cracks. Forget the gym. Forget any notion of “me time.” By the end of the day, the idea of doing anything remotely productive is laughable. I’m shattered. And I know he can sense it too — because kids are perceptive like that.

So I’ve got nothing but respect for the parents who are out here doing this alone, day after day, with no tag-team partner to hand the baton to. Heroes, honestly. Because this job — raising a tiny human into a decent, functioning adult — is the hardest gig out there. And when you’re doing it solo, there’s no room for error, no space for collapse, no “days off.”

Parenting is hard. Single parenting is harder. And while nobody really cares about dad — at least not in the way we sometimes wish they did — maybe the point is that dads need to start caring for each other a little more. Sharing the stories, the disasters, the exhaustion. Being honest about how tough it actually is.

Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this: it’s not about being perfect. It’s about showing up. Day after day. Even when you’re knackered. Even when you feel like you’re winging it. Because to them, you’re not winging it at all. You’re just Dad. And that’s enough.