Last night my husband came home to a semi-clean house, a hot dinner of pot roast, potatoes and fresh baked bread. The baby was fed and fairly happy, the kindergartener was almost done with her dinner, smiley, happy to see daddy. I had one of his favorite movies of all time on the TV. Sometimes, yes sometimes, I wish I was a man…
I keep telling my husband how lucky he is, that he comes home and “usually” his clothes are clean, folded, put away, he doesn’t have to deal with the “yes I cleaned my room” when stuff is pouring out of the kindergarteners room, or when the baby just decides he doesn’t want to take a nap and just cries for an hour and a half for no reason at all.
I have a hard enough time trying to make time to shower, or get more than 30 minutes to myself (as I sit here the kindergartener is coloring feet from me, showing me everything she’s doing and the baby is eating yet another tag on a stuffed animal he’s not supposed to be playing with).
He’s got a life like Mr. Cleaver! Seriously he does. I even wear an apron when I cook. I’m an MBA for gods sake, how did that happen! I digress.
Maybe I’m a little jealous of the man, but I can tell you one thing, I think he’s jealous too. I get to stay home with the kiddos, I don’t have to deal with the stress of work (and in his case school as well), I get to sit with my baby until he goes to sleep pretty much every night and get to laugh when my kindergartener decides it’s backwards day and doesn’t realize her clothes are on backwards until she’s walking in the door of the school. My days are harder now than they were when I was working my butt off, and in my book, that’s a good thing!
