Four hands are better than two.

Tomorrow I return to work after my paternity leave/holiday combo. I am less than jubilant about this, as is my wife. I have tried to convince her that my contribution to keeping our two young ladies in check is really negligible, therefore my impending absence for forty hours a week should pose little threat to her sanity. One could even argue that she will now in fact have one less child to supervise.

My case was undermined last Friday night, however, when I was granted special dispensation to make a foray into Big London City to have a rare night of fun with my friends. Of course, these people are also my wife's friends, so I was extremely appreciative of her brave sacrifice in staying at home with the girls so that I could be the social representative for both of us. This appreciation became tinged with guilt when I heard my wife's anguished description of the nightmare that had been bath time that evening. Imagine the popular redneck refrain Duelling Banjos, but with the twangy instruments replaced by screams which escalate in almost endless competition with each other. So more Dante than Deliverance, I suppose. This was a harrowing experience for my wife to endure unassisted and her sense of trepidation has only increased as a result. At least nobody had to squeal like a pig.

So the relative serenity of having one parent per child on a full-time basis is now at an end. The difficulties we have for the past month overcome together will now be doubled. How, for example, will my wife transfer both children upstairs on her own? Daughter A can make this journey under her own steam, but must be carefully overseen at close proximity. Daughter B is unable to move anywhere under her own steam, and must therefore be carried. Each activity requires two arms. They must occur concurrently. My wife does not have four arms. As such she will be left with a choice between abandoning one child's safety to the hands of fate or not doing a wee all day.

Some mornings I get up at 6:00 for work. I will now be compelled to get everyone else up at the same time (bearing in mind that my wife and younger daughter are people for whom sleep is currently at a premium) so that I can assist with the washing, nappy changing, dressing and feeding of others before I depart. The alternative will be to eat my bowl of Krave and do my morning poo in absolute silence before sneaking away and leaving my wife to deal with the getting up of the girls by herself. Again, there seems to be no desirable option here.

Similar logistical nightmares will apply to preparing meals, leaving the house, appeasing the wounded, entertaining the restless, and pretty much every activity that takes place in the course of an average parental day. All require disagreeable compromise when there are more children than parents on hand. And these are just the examples we can think of now. If only I didn't have to go to work.

We have started buying lottery tickets.