A few weeks ago I posted about my "Writing Mother Guilt," and how I was wrestling with whether or not to take more writing time for myself. I decided in affirmative - a fulfilled mom is a good mom -- but now the point is rather moot. I've just started working four days a week instead of three at my job.
The shift up to four days is a result of being asked to take on some additional responsibilities - fun ones, mostly -- and is certainly not a bad problem to have in this economy. But it does come with certain tradeoffs, chief among them less time with the girls during the week. There may be a bit more travel, too, which I enjoy, but which also freaks me out a bit more now that I've got issue in the world. You can tell me as many times as you like that I have a higher chance of crashing in a car than crashing in an airplane, but I still feel a step close to oblivion in the sky than I do on the ground. Call it the post 9/11 mentality.
(I'm actually drafting this post while sitting on the tarmac in LaGuardia, all flights grounded on account of thunderstorms. And we're 30th in line for takeoff once we get clearance, Clarence. This may be a very long post, depending on how long my battery power lasts.)
Anyway -- I've worked through the whole oh-gosh-now-I'm-almost-a-full-time-working-mom-what-does-it-mean-is-this-the-right-thing issue. What I really wanted to write about was how odd it is to me when people say things, as a colleague did yesterday before I left, along the lines of "So, is Alastair taking care of the girls tonight? Ha ha - that will be interesting, huh?" Sometimes they even use the word "babysitting," as if a father "babysits" his own children.
(Oh jeez. It just started POURING out. This is not looking good.)
Now, granted, my situation is different, because Alastair is the primary caregiver when I'm at work, which is not typical. But even if he did have a regular fulltime job, and the girls were in daycare, or if the tables were turned and I was the one staying home, I'd like to think he would be just as adept at taking care of his own children as I was. Actually, I know he would be.
And I know there are some couples - I know some personally, in fact - where both parents work, but the mother still does do a lot more of the hands-on parenting than the father. If it works for them, great. Nothing wrong with it. Every couple negotiates their own division of labor. (In fact, we're very "traditional" in the sense that I'm the one who does almost all the food shopping and cooking in our household.)
I just wish, for the sake of my husband and other men like him, who are fully capable of and engaged in taking care of their small children - not just playing with them or reading bedtime stories to them, but all of it : diapers, getting dressed, feeding, bathing, keeping safe and happy for long, often dull stretches of time - it wasn't automatically assumed, by so many people, that men are so incompetent that even putting the kids to bed and getting them up in the morning without mom present would lead to a disaster of bad TV commercial proportions. (Stuffed animals spinning from the ceiling fan! Bathtubs overflowing! Flour all over kitchen! Socks on ears! Shirts on lampshades! Cats and dogs, living together...etc. etc.)
Well. My battery is now down to reserve power, and the sun is coming out, they're putting away the beverage carts, so I'll wrap things up. Looks like maybe I'll actually get back home in time to put the kids to bed.
Let's HOPE so! Can you imagine what might happen if their FATHER has to do it!?? HA HA HA!!
(Coda: after two hours on the runway, I'm home safe and sound. Greeted with delicious 2-year-old hugs, and stealing two minutes to post this before I go back down and hang with the girls. Well in advance of bedtime.)
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