We’re On A (Gender) Role

A few weeks ago we were at a birthday party for a friend where dinner was served.  Because it was a 3-year-old’s birthday party, there was the extra bedlam that accompanies any atmosphere where more than 1 toddler is gathered.

I won’t lie: they were serving yogurt-covered raisins, which distracted me from my primary duty of watching Simon.  (Yogurt-covered raisins? Here, watch my child while I put my face directly into the dish and lap them up with my tongue.)  When I came to and realized I had no idea where Simon was, I went looking for him with that nauseating mix of panic, shame and sugar-rush.

It was a false alarm.  Both kids were playing one room away with other children under Jeff’s benevolent and watchful gaze.

Whew.

Two parents saw my face when I realized that Simon safely enjoying the evening and that I was not going to be smote down by the gods for enjoying a little dessert disguised as a fruit. (Query: If raisins are nature’s candy, are yogurt-covered raisins nature’s crack?) I confessed that I had lost track of Simon for a few minutes and horrible visions, which were making it hard to breathe, had raced through my head.

One of the mothers laughed and told a story about how her husband had lost track of her younger son in the very same house we were sitting in, and she eventually found her son wandering in the front yard.  At night. In the snow.  Then she told the group gathered (2 fathers, 1 mother, 1 grandmother, and 5 toddlers) about an old adage:

“When a mother watches a child, a mother takes care of the child.  When a father watches a child, God takes care of the child.”

One of the fathers standing next to me whispered under his breath: “I so wish I had not heard that.” I don’t remember seeing Jeff react at the time.

A few days later, however, Jeff mentioned that it was one of the most offensive things he had heard in a long time.  Understandably so.  Jeff does an amazing job of parenting, and there’s plenty that he does better than I do.  I love that Jeff and I are true co-parents. I confess that there is a part of me (say, 1.8%) that would love to be the domestic expert– the ONLY parent who knows where the band-aids are or how to comfort Sadie when it’s time to put away her lipstick and go to bed.  But I only like that vision in theory because all my fantasies involve a level of power and control that borders on fascism (the good kind, not the bad kind).  Our reality is much better than my visions of total domination and control: Jeff and I share almost all the labor of being parents, except I don’t trim the kids’ finger nails and he doesn’t usually breast feed.  Hey, no couple is perfect; stop judging.

Actually, most of the dads we know are extremely hands-on.  They experience the bliss and the mind-numbing boredom just like my mother friends and I do.  I have heard my father friends complain about the bias in favor of mothers and how pernicious and persistent it is. I am sure it sucks and it must be so unfamiliar since, let’s face it, usually it’s women who have to overcome the stereotype/bias.

Each family has to find its own way with gender roles and balance and the division of labor.  We are lucky to have a good groove here.

 

Advertisements

One thought on “We’re On A (Gender) Role

  1. Found you!

    OK, so this post really resonates with me. Like Jeff, my husband Rick is also a very hands-on dad. That is, I can leave on a whim and not worry about leaving detailed notes about where things are, such as – who needs what medicine, who likes to eat what and when, nap time, where we keep the butt cream, etc. I love that. I also credit Rick for helping me learn how to breast feed when our first son was born in 2004. He would get up with me in the middle of the night and help Ian latch on (which at first took numerous tries) and then lie on the floor in the middle of the nursery while I feed the baby. I eventually took to doing those nightly feedings on my own, but if it wasn’t for Rick getting up with me those first few weeks and literally placing our son’s mouth on my boob, I would have most likely dropped the breast feeding early on. He did the same thing for the second one in 2008, since the little bugger wouldn’t latch. And again we slugged it out together, sleepless, exhausted and out of our minds. Look forward to more posts.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s