Ex-Banker: My Life Of Hell As A House Husband

French Maid Man

I just don't know how I cope!

I read with interest the eFinancialCareers article on how female bankers should handle their house husbands.

Top tips include 'empowering your man', 'give him spending money', and 'don't focus on how much you've done and how little he's done'.

I have been a so-called 'house husband' for several years now, since we had children. I worked in the markets, but my wife, who followed me in, successfully rode the diversity train and soon became a senior executive in the City. As we no longer needed my income, we agreed that I'd give up work to be the homemaker, and take care of the kids.

I admit that the first few months were the hardest (much more difficult than doing a proper job), but I was soon able to use my superior organisational skills to get the job down to a tee (literally).

During the week, the live-in nanny gets the children up, washed and breakfasted. She then takes the youngest to nursery and the two older children to school (they will soon be boarding, which will make my life even easier).

The cleaner arrives just in time to clear away the breakfast things, tidy up the house, and do the washing and ironing. I usually head for the golf club at around 9am, and return home after a late lunch to await the children. Fortunately, they are too young for homework, so I don't have to get involved with that. But I do rather enjoy watching them being fed (it's a bit like going to the zoo).

I then have a quick glance at The Racing Post, take a 'power nap' for a couple of hours, and head off out again. By the time I arrive back in early evening after a few jars with the lads, I have a quick bath and wait for the wife to come in.

And, as luck would have it, my wife (and, despite everything, I won't have a word said against her!) is very tuned in to my 'feminine side'. She never complains when I have to play golf at weekends - only fair, of course, after the stress of my week - and always makes a fuss of me when she returns home (which is often quite late).

I know she feels guilty about being more successful than I could ever be, but I tell her that she shouldn't worry. I'm coping with my new life, and long ago came to terms with the fact that it's really my wife who wears the trousers in our house.

I'm just content to contribute when and where I can, never making a fuss. Yes, it's a hard life, but I guess someone's got to do it.

How female bankers handle their househusbands: a user’s guide

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