Is It Possible To Truly Share The Load?

Stephanie C - 24 Jan 16

When it comes to the running of the house, my husband and I have always exercised complete equality: we both pay bills, both take the bins out, both clean the bathroom.  We don’t have designated, gender-definied ‘jobs’ that one of us does and the other doesn’t – I’m just as likely to change a light bulb out as he is to marinate a chicken – because we pretty much operate on ‘if it needs done, it gets done by whoever’s closest or notices first.’  Many couples do things differently and if it works, brilliant, but hubster and I moved out of our respective family homes long before meeting and moving in together and as a result, we’re both pretty good at the whole package of ‘keeping house.’

Now, I wasn’t naive enough to think that nothing would change during my maternity leave.  Even though I didn’t want to suddenly become the only one responsible for stocking the cupboards and putting washing away, I saw the wide-open days of mat. leave as a brilliant opportunity to get all the boring stuff out of the way so that our evenings and weekends would be freed up for that all-important family time.  Of course our house is nowhere near as clean or tidy as it used to be – I have the minor matter of a tiny hurricane-inducing baby to attend to, after all – and the expectation for dinner these days is simply that it’s edible (we’ll get back to a varied and interesting diet in a few years) but for the most part, just like before – although it’s changed – it’s working.

So far, so smug.

Hmmm… except, perhaps not.  You see, whilst I was willing to accept that there’d be a slight, almost imperceptible shift in the way we manage the day-to-day, it didn’t for a second cross my mind that when it came to the parenting of our son, it’d be any different.  Completely equal, I thought.  We’d both (for the most part) know what to, how to do it and when to do it, I thought. We’re his parents after all, we love him equally and both want to play a major role in his upbringing.  But recently, I’m sensing something very different to what I imagined; nothing awful, nothing scary, just something that I didn’t know would happen.  I’ve realised, that when it comes to our son, I’m the director, the leader, the CEO.

This has been a slow realisation but a significant one, nonetheless.  My first clue was a couple of months back when hubster was Skyping with his mum one Saturday morning.  She asked him about the boy’s nap routine and if we’d managed to crack it (it had previously been an unpredicatable, all over the place mess.)  “No” he told her.  “He only sleeps for 20 minutes at a time, twice a day.”  Not true.  NOT TRUE AT ALL!  I’d spent ridiculous amounts of time (weeks) and energy (I was frazzled) getting the boy into a regular and less scattered nap routine.  In the space of around a month he went from sleeping for as little as 5 minutes at a time and not being able to fall asleep on his own/without a bottle to 3 full-blown, glorious naps of up to an hour and a half, at roughly the same time each day.  I’d researched what was normal and how to get there, I read books, which I swore I’d never do, and I was delighted with the results; it meant I could squeeze in the odd episode of the Kardashians (not really but maybe) and not live in a dumping ground of toys and half-wiped-up Weetabix.  But here he was, saying it was all just as crappy as ever.  I didn’t want to make a thing of it, (peace keeper that I am) so after his call, I just vaguely mentioned how terribly lovely it was that we could have our breakfast together in peace while bubs was down for his morning snooze *smile, keep smiling.* Inside of course, I was like “HELLO! LOOK AT US! WE’RE EATING IN THE ABSENCE OF THAT VERY SMALL BUT VERY ATTENTION-CONSUMING PERSON WE OWN, AND HAVE BEEN FOR 20 MINUTES YOU *&%$ING IDIOT!”

Anyway, that was that, time passes, we move on.  Until I was soon again reminded that (and this used to be a good thing) I’m in charge and I know more.  This time, it was when we were out for lunch with friends – it was a whole day thing so bubs, being practically a grown-up now, needed formula, actual food and countless snacks at the ready to fend off every hint of a break down during the day.  I went for a run in the morning before we left and by the time I showered, make-upped and dressed, I was short on time: enter husband, getting-ready-er and bag-packer extraordinaire.  He did his dad thing and we were off.  Food wise, it was going well, baby boy had a bottle on the train to tide him over and I could see there were two more ‘emergency bottles’ in the bottom of the pram – all good, the boy won’t starve.  Then it came to lunch time, and he pretty much did.  Just as our food was arriving and bubs was getting restless in the high chair, I casually asked “what’s little person having for lunch?” The answer could have been one a 465,000 things – I’d bulk cooked the week before and the freezer was at bursting point with all the puréed delights Annabel Karmel could shake a wooden spoon at. “Oh, I didn’t pack food, did you?” came the answer. Was he for serious?? “No, you were doing the bags, I was in the shower.” “Can he not just have bottles today?” Eh – what? COME ON!  Ok, ok, it’s not the end of the world if we didn’t bring food, he can have bits of our lunch or we can find a moment to leg it to a supermarket for some ingenious squeezy baby food pouches – that wasn’t the issue.  But “can he not just have bottles?” “CAN HE NOT JUST HAVE BOTTLES?” What, the 9 month old who started weaning at 18 weeks? The busy, always-wriggling mad man who adventures so hard and burns off so much energy that he spends half his day on the verge of starvation? No! He cannot just have bottles and anyone who spent 5 minutes with any almost-one-year-old would know that 120mls of water and 4 scoops of your finest organic formula just won’t cut at lunch time. “That’s ok” I replied “I’ll just order  him some mash.” (Always the peace-keeper, quietly punching him in my mind’s eye.)

I’d like to say those are the only two examples of my husband’s need for guidance in this area but just before Christmas we somehow ended up babywipe-less amidst a literal s**t storm on a long car journey after he packed the car.  And this morning, after a delicious lie-in, I came downstairs to see baby boy rubbing his eyes, sucking his fingers and whinging.  Daddy bear had no idea what was wrong. “When did you guys get up?” I asked “3 hours ago,” said Papa. “Right, probably needs a nap, then.” #duh

I don’t mean to paint an inaccurate picture of my husband. He’s honestly the greatest man I know. He’s thoughtful and intelligent and when I see him and our son are together I could just die of happiness (is that a thing?) He is my number one, my peer, my friend, my equal.  But somehow, in finding our feet as parents and the establishment of family management, that very equality that has always defined our relationship has disappeared or at least blurred a bit. I suppose it’s inevitable that being with our son 24/7 means I know him and his needs a bit more acutely but for some reason it upsets me that I have to ask my husband things like “have you packed extra nappies?” Or “do you think you should bath him now given that it’s 7.45pm?!”  I honestly don’t know if it gets to me because I’m a woman desperately trying to fight the good fight for gender equality and trying to resist slipping into the stereotypical role of ‘home-maker’ and ‘care-giver.’  Or if it’s just that deep down I’m concerned that I’ll end up continuing to do the majority of the child-organising at the same time as working a highly stressful, time-consuming job.  Maybe I shouldn’t be so caught up on it, maybe it will change when I go back to work and we’re both being pulled in different directions.  But when it comes to parenting, I don’t want to be in charge, I don’t want there to be a leader at all.  I want it to be like the good old days when we agreed on having a cup of tea and the person who made it was the one closest to the kettle.

Stephanie C

Two boy mama, Irish, Londoner, secondary English teacher, runner, occasional climber, pun enthusiast, laugh-out-loud-er, insta-addict Follow me on Instagram: @seppicino Intersted in contributing to my personal blog? www.dearstupidparents.com - all writer's welcome

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