I am certain without a doubt that my husband was not only present but actively participating in the conception of our children. Furthermore, he was also present at the moments of their births and almost every following milestone. He woke up late nights to feed, change and comfort them while I pumped milk for the following day. He was there to clean their boo boos, wipe their tears and give them sweet kisses to make them feel better. He has and continues to be there to reprimand the children much the same way I do when they misbehave. In my mind, he and I are complete equals. The children – not so much.
For the past several days, my husband is taking a much-needed break and I am flying solo as a single parent. The day-to-day scheduling tends to be more chaotic without my husband’s help, but I have learned to manage by using available resources – my family and friends. We also have a little ritual when Daddy is away. We will talk about the area in which he has traveled to and we often make a cake upon his return. On trips where Daddy is flying, the children and I sometimes sit in Terminal C and are the first faces Daddy sees when he comes through the gates.
Today is Saturday and Daddy is on his way home. Our day is relatively mild as far as activities is concerned. Ballet rehearsals and food shopping are the only items on the “to do” list and a very much-needed ladies book club meeting tonight. Which brings me to the point of this post. While discussing our plans for today, I mentioned that my mommy friends were coming over for Book Club. Without even finishing my sentence, the children were jumping up and down. “Yesssssss. Daddy is babysitting for us! Whoo Hoo!”
WTF? We hire young ladies to “babysit”. We ask our relatives to “babysit”. Why is it that Daddy “babysits”?
Considering I just spent several days parenting my children solo, did my children think I was “babysitting”? I just had to question the children knowing full-well this could easily bruise my ego.
“Daddy let’s us have fun. You make us do homework, brush our teeth and go to bed on time,” says my oldest. Seeing my apparent dejection on my face, my youngest interjected, “But you make the best lunches.”