Nobody Wants a Divorced Stay-Home Dad

I have powerful female friends in soon-to-be powerful social positions. They are Alpha in work, in play, and probably in bed. They will want a job with long hours, a late marriage, and a perfectly planned family complete with 2.2 children, 3 years apart. They will desire lavish material acquisition, or cultural enlightenment, or worldly journeys without and within. They wish their children to be home-schooled in Chinese, English, and Sanskrit. Their boys are to go to ballet class, the girls, football camp. During the summer, they will visit New Delhi with the young. The children will practice Vinyasa and Kathakali while the the women cure the West Nile and plan parenthoods.

How shall all this be possible? The Omega Stay Home Dad. He is strong enough to move furniture, yet gentle enough to rock a baby to sleep. He can fix the toilet, whack the weed while the laundry dries and the ziti cools. He knows when to yell at your daughter for watching too much TV, but he can cry with her when Bambi's mother dies. While the mom is wearing her pant suit, seducing her way into a multi-billion dollar settlement, the dad is wearing his overalls, fighting with the realtor for a lower down payment.

Charming idea, isn't it? Especially with women becoming increasing more socially and political powerful, men, undoubtedly, will be looked to, with a flirtatiously demanding eye, to leave their 9-5 to play with Barbies. Frankly, I'd be the perfect candidate. Having taken a year of gender studies, worked with an all-women's theatre company, and picked out more shirts for women than my own wardrobe, I would like to think that I would be man enough to stay at home, raise my genius children, re-decorate the house, and flirt with the gardener with her hot yellow gloves. If I were, I would not be alone. I'd be one of more than 2.5 million SAHDs, and hell, most of them are from my home state. Ang Lee even cooked and cleaned for seven years before he got around to make it big in cinema with a movie about a father who cooks for his three daughters.

So why shouldn't I? But somehow, the idea isn't very sexy. For me, the scary part is not so much the notion of capability or enjoyment, but more of its near inevitability. Frankly, it makes sense. Given my nurturing personality, my value in family, and my who-know-what-may-come-of-it career, being SAHD just seems to fit, right between SADD and SNAFO. But how many Alpha F are actually seeking Omega M? The Power Couple phenomenon are apparent amongst my friends; Ph.Ds and Esqs and MBAs and MDs are all hooking up. And of my single Alpha friends, many seem to desire an even more Alpha male, in order to make them feel "more like a lady." But God forbid, no ring without a pre-nup. But who will raise the children? Who will have the time and energy to read to their kids after a 12-hour day at the Firm or a beltway accident day from the ER? Though it is unfair to ask the matriarch to give up the career to tend to the young, but is the world ready for the middle manager to give up his Herman Miller chair for the bean bag? Sure, you can be a Manhattanite and pay for nannies and maids for them to take over your private institution, but then you get Paris Hilton, featured in night vision.

And then there's the other fifty percent. If the pre-nup is fair, the dad would gain custody, the mom would deal with the child support and weekends, and he would get her half of the family tree. Otherwise, he's screwed. Who would want a divorced stay-home dad? No energy to hit the gym, no time to watch the game, no skills to get a job, and no glory to date young. And worst of all, he's out of breast milk.

But maybe I'm not giving the women enough credit. Maybe they find sensitivity sexy, a child touching, and an eye for curtains endearing. She rather opens the door for you, while dressed in Chanel. She'll drive fast, but admits when she's lost. Your children fear her when they wrong, but run to her when they need someone to hold them. And when she buys you a new suit, you two will paint the town, and she'll let you lead on the dance floor.

Is there an acronym support group for that demographic? Call me, so I can be their St. Valentine.