While I was bumbling through university and fitting in part-time work, I was forever short of cash so many things seemed out of reach. But honestly, I was quite content in those days, as I really had nothing to worry about. My wife and I were renting a charmingly cramped flat and hadnt even entertained the thought of children. The master plan was to first buy our own little house and only then dare to consider multiplication.
My parents are retired, and I have a younger sister. Shes divorced and has my nephew, whos now a proper Year One scholar. Weve never exactly rolled in money as a family, but weve always managed to muddle through on our own.
Back then, I thought times were grand. After all, I was on the up and up: freshly graduated and, just like that, promoted at work. Suddenly, I found myself as our bosss right-hand man. It worked wonders for my payslip, Ill tell you that much. My wife and I lost no time we marched down to the bank and bravely signed ourselves up for a mortgage. Goodbye, poky rented flat; hello, mortgage repayments. And since we were clearly on a roll, my wife took the opportunity just a month later to announce she was expecting. We sprang into action, getting utterly entangled in preparations for the arrival of our new heir. My promotion sent a bolt of excitement through the family WhatsApp group.
And then, true to family form, the subtle blackmail arrived my loving parents chirped away about how I really ought to lend a helping hand to my down-on-her-luck sister and her energetic son. My sister weighed in too: as the eldest sibling, surely, it was my sworn duty to keep our parents afloat as well. Rather helpfully, my wages evaporated faster than rain at a cricket match. One minute, Mum and Dad desperately needed a big new telly, next, my nephew had to go on a school trip that, I assume, included gold-plated buses.
Meanwhile, my wife began to glare at me over her maternity leave cuppa, as it became blindingly clear we didnt actually have enough to keep our own household ticking over what with half the extended family now living off my salary. I realised not entirely painlessly that it was time to gently cut my generous contributions. Otherwise, our latest and smallest mortgage co-signer wouldnt even have enough for tiny socks or, heaven forbid, those absurdly priced baby onesies that seem to cost more than my old car.
