Tonight I stood in the shower and fought back tears. The reason? A mere thirty seconds after I began unwinding under the hot, soothing spray, the sound of the water being turned on in the bathroom down the hall assaulted my senses. Moments later, my water pressure dismally dropped and my near-scalding water transformed to an unappealing tepid. I was pissed. You see, spending ten minutes in the shower every evening is one of the few parts of my day that is truly relaxing. As I indulged in my confrontational fantasy-soon-to-be-reality in which I marched into my daughters’ bathroom and demanded that my husband please wait until my shower ends next time before he begins filling the bathtub, a second thought occurred to me. He was giving our six year old a bath. And I was not involved in this activity.
Earlier in the day, this same topic came up as I was getting my hair cut and colored. (A good stylist is truly a bargain- getting your hair done and having therapy all at once? You can’t beat that.) We were discussing how easy it was to spiral into double standards in relationships and child-raising. For example, here is a list of my utopian guidelines for my household:
|All hail Queen Mommy!|
|Daddy is pretty much the coolest|
Also, as much as I resent the idea of being Parenting Project Manager 24/7, I am equally uncomfortable relinquishing control. It’s a Catch-22. (Wait, is that the correct usage of that terminology? I’m never exactly sure how to use that one. Or Murphy’s Law.) I truly don’t want to be in charge of everything- monitoring naptime, bedtime, nutritional intake, weather appropriate attire, doctor’s appointments, haircuts, etc. But I have made it abundantly clear that any effort to pitch in that deviates from my superlative level of planning is unacceptable. So what’s a dad to do?
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