The Dolce Vita Diaries. Cathy Rogers

       4 Los Angeles…London…Loro Piceno

      We only just made it back to London before our baby, Rosie, arrived, bang on time, and suddenly we were three. As we left the hospital, our tiny little naked mole rat bundled up and looking teensy in the obligatory car seat, we expected a heavy hand on our shoulder at any moment. It just doesn’t seem possible, when you think of all the tiny petty things that the law doesn’t let you do, that the authorities really think it’s OK to hand over the care of a tiny vulnerable little human to terrified amateurs.

      We happily lived in the bubble that is early parenthood for a few months, seeing lots of friends and family, being treated like royalty, and sauntering out with Rosie into the charmed London world around us. We did things like take her—at a few weeks of age—to an exhibition of magnified insects at the Natural History Museum, or, stashed under coats, to music recitals. And every Friday night—our sacrosanct ‘date night’—we’d walk round and round the block, swinging her in her car seat or singing banal songs until she fell asleep and we’d be able to go out for dinner together, banned from even mentioning the baby word.

      Jason did his last stint of work for the Scrapheap Challenge juggernaut at the end of 2004 and then said goodbye to TV. We both underestimated the shock of his giving up work. The idea was that he would do part-time Rosie care (my maternity leave having come to an end) and part-time development and research for our life to be. In other words, a rather formless existence, with suddenly no colleagues, no structure, no clocking in and out and, crucially, no pay cheque at the end of the month. Lots of people say money isn’t important to them—us included. And what you mean when you say it is that, if you were forced to live on very little money, you feel sure that you could cope. And you’re probably right. But the main thing you lose when you give up a pay cheque isn’t the money. Instead, you are losing your independence (and I’d say, feminism intact, that for a man this is harder, because the social taboos are so much more potent) and your sense of being valued in the world; you’re losing your sense that you are contributing.

      Rationally, you know most of this is nonsense—of course Jason was doing valuable work, both with Rosie and for our future. But such is the curse of unpaid work at home—it is unrecognized and unappreciated by society. But people still ask women who stay at home ‘But what do you actually do all day?’

      In terms of the business we were going from a true standing start. And Jason was doing most of it single-handed as I was back at work three or four days a week, the other days looking after Rosie. Our ‘To do’ list for January read as follows:

      TO DO LIST—JANUARY 2005