When Todd and I were in Park City, my sister-in-law asked me about "shared parenting" and how it was going for Todd and I. Shared parenting meaning how we share and balance the responsibilities of being a mom and dad.
I have to say, no one had ever asked me that before, nor had I thought about it in that way..."shared parenting". It might sound like a duh way of describing it, but I blame my lack of common sense on my preggo brain that never went away. Please tell me that happens to other mommas too?
We had a little convo about it, and I went on to tell her about how some days we have a handle on it, and other days we don't. Some days I feel like supermom and superwife. I've got it together. Dishes are done, house is clean, work's completed, Reese is well-napped and happy, dinner's made, etc... On those days when Todd gets home from work, life's a peach. I'm all, "Sit down, take a load off babe, welcome home." It's the days where everything runs smoothly...on those days, I'm all, "I'll feed her, I'll change her, I'll put her to bed." Those days average out to be about 9% of the time.
Then there's the other 91%.
Those days I do not have it together. Sweet merciful, I just don't. Dishes are stacked to the ceiling. The front room is covered in baby toys, diapers, laundry that needs to be folded, shoes, and cups. Cups and cups and cups. (You'd think because there was only two of us there would only need to be two cups out at a time. This is not the case, FYI.) Working from home is not happening smoothly. Reese decided she didn't want to nap peacefully. Period. End of story. Reese exploded. Reese was teething. Dinner is definitely NOT made. On those days, when Todd gets home from work, life's a sour lemon. A real acidic, bitter lemon. As soon as he waltzes through that door, it's like hot potato, and Reese is the potato. I'm all, "Ohhhh emm geeee, FINALLY. Take her. It's your turn. She needs to be fed. And changed. And played with." Or I'm all, "The dishes, laundry, and house in general are getting out of control, can you handle that?" And let's just say my demeanor is less than pleasant.
Just writing about it is incredibly exhausting. Because then we fast forward to the end of my escapade, and I'm all, "I'm really sorry Todd." And truth is...I really, really am. I hate that I react that way on those days. Because the fact of the matter is, he's really excited to come home at the end of the day. He wants to relax and enjoy his family, just as much as I do.
Maybe instead of hot potatoing those babies right into our husbands' laps when they waltz through the door, we can try to be just as thrilled to see him as we were when we first got married. Maybe we can give him a big ol' smile, look him in the eyes, and be all, "I'm so glad you're home (insert Hubby here)." Maybe we can be not so quick to throw our hands in the air in frustration, and insist that our day was worse than his. Maybe when he asks how our day was, we can try to explain that we had a really hard day before we spout off, "I'm fine!" Or when he asks you what you did all day, we can try not to assume that what he's really saying is, "Have you just been sitting on your butt all day? What did you even accomplish?" Because ladies...that is not what he's asking.
The biggest favor we can do for ourselves is to try to be a little less defensive and a lot more loving. That's what I know I need to do.
So this whole "shared parenting" thing. Do we have it down? Absolutely not. Will we one day? Probably not. Can we try to be more loving throughout the process? You better believe it.