I was a hv. There are good and bad hvs, like any profession.
And you should see some of the hassle they have to put up with, tbh. It is not just popping from house to house admiring babies and drinking tea, with the odd clinic in between and then home in time to bath your own children.
Not all mothers are open and friendly and seeking advice. Not all children are in loving caring homes. Not all the work is happy, smiling new baby stuff. It can be a very depressing, soul destroying job with mountains of administration and situations that cannot be changed or ameliorated and children, families and parents suffering as a result. It can also be a deeply rewarding job and I never regretted becoming a hv.
I was once chased by a man with a knife who was threatening his wife, I have been bitten by dogs, jumped on by a fourteen year old as a joke, taught a single father how to make scrambled eggs and how to iron a school uniform, played with babies whilst their exhausted mother had a nap, spent three hours trapped in a house when the toddler hid the keys, helped a pg woman visit her partner in prison, accepted a bunch of flowers and a cup of tea from a woman who we helped leave her violent partner and had never been able to openly let us in the door before and eaten more than one huge feast laid on by an iranian/lebanese/chinese family who wished to express their thanks for the support. I worked damn hard and always hoped to be as up to date as possible on the latest research and guidelines, as did my colleagues.
I sometimes used to wish I was a magician, rather than a hv. I still occasionally think about some of the children and families I used to work with.