My husband is awesome. I think that he is typical of a lot of modern husbands and daddies. The dads of the mid-twentieth century sort of left the heavy-lifting of parenting and housework to the mommies, even if the mommies worked outside the home. It was the curse of economic equality for the ladies: you get to have your job, ma'am, but you've still got to cover all the bases at home. That's not the way we are, now, not at my house, and not at a lot of houses I know.
There's been some criticism of the "companionate marriage" in which the husband and wife are contented friends as much as, or even more than, lovers. (Does anybody else hate that word? I couldn't come up with a better one.) These sorts of marriages are criticized for being sexless and devoid of romance and excitement. Rather than romanceless, I would say that a companionate marriage, like mine, is realistic, practical, fun . . . and still very loving with room for romance.
I think that our mid-twentieth century mothers helped us out by raising their sons to be helpmeets. My mom has often spoken with pride about how she taught my brother how to do the laundry and other "women's work" sort of chores. And I know that my brother is an awesome daddy and househelper. He does not leave it all to his wife.
Neither does my husband. My husband is also a lawyer. His job is, pretty much, just like mine. It's stressful. It's demanding. It's frustrating. It's enervating. And, just like me, he's got to balance that job with home and family. He definitely does not leave it all up to me.
Here's a typical evening at our house: I come home first, with The Boy. I try to get dinner started for my husband and me, if The Boy will let me. I may throw a load of laundry into the washer or dryer. I feed The Boy. At some point during the feeding, his dad comes home. Dad immediately gets to washing all of the bottle parts and other hand washing stuff. He loads the dishwasher. After that, he either starts dinner, or picks up from where I left off. Meanwhile, I finish feeding The Boy, change his diaper, give him a bath (or at least wipe him down really well), get him dressed for bed and then put him to bed. My husband, during this time, also cleans up the kitchen, cleans the floors and, sometimes, even changes my cat's catbox. He helps me fold the laundry. He pays the bills online. And sometimes, when The Boy is cranking, he comes to help me settle the little guy down and put him to bed.
In the mornings my husband gives The Boy his first bottle of the day so that I can attend to The Cat, who is diabetic. He fixes The Boy's bottles for school. He makes his coffee-addicted wife a cup of coffee every morning as she scoots out the door so that she can get to the office early. If I have not had time to change The Boy and get him dressed for school, he does that too. Then he takes The Boy to school. Only then does he get a shower himself, get his own breakfast, and get to work. And maybe he will play his piano for a few minutes before he heads to the office. He deserves those few minutes for himself.
Honestly, sometimes I feel guilty that my husband does so much. And here, in this blog, I have been calling him "Mr. The Working Mom." Well, that's not fair. He's not just my husband, defined solely by his marriage to me. He's his own person, just like me. And so, he shall be called in this blog, from now on, The Working Dad.
