by Tracy Million Simmons
I have one of those modern husbands. At least, that's what my mom tells people. From the beginning of our relationship we have worked to be partners who complement each other. Most of the time, we do quite well.
When we were both working and childless, we would divide up the chores in an attempt to keep the house in order. I would wash the dishes. He would do the laundry. I would take out the trash. He would clean the cat's box.
I loved listening to my mother tell her friends about her visits.
"I got to watch my son-in-law fold towels," she would brag.
"It was my job to take care of the house," she told me once, "I never expected your father to help."
"Well, I never expected to marry my father," I told her.
When our first baby was born, I stayed home to care for her. Our roles suddenly starting looking much more traditional - much like the roles of my parents.
I began doing more of the house cleaning than he did. I, after all, was not spending ten hours a day away from home. His dish duty details became limited to weekends. He rarely washed the laundry though he still helped fold clothes in the evening while watching television.
My mother, however, now had something new to talk about when she came to visit.
"My son-in-law changes the baby's diapers," I caught her whispering to my aunt.
"Don't worry mom," I assured her when she showed concern that my husband was going to give the baby a bath by himself, "He's completely capable of bathing a baby."
Despite all the confidence in my husband I showed to my mother, letting my husband care for our baby proved to be much more difficult than I had imagined.
Early daddy episodes involved me rushing into the room every time the baby squeaked. I had developed a baby-in-distress system that was alerted immediately to every possible discomfort she had... and many that she didn't. My husband often took charge, giving me much needed breaks for showers, sleep, and the like. Unfortunately, my system would go into super-mom alert instead of relaxing and being grateful for the time off. I was determined to help him catch every cue the baby gave him.
"Have you checked her diaper?"
"Have you tried rocking her like this?"
"You need to hold her more like this."
"She likes it better if you hold the bottle this way."
I was a never-ending parenting course where my husband was concerned.
He began using this you're-offering-too-much-advice-on-my-driving look that finally made me stop and consider. Here was a well-educated man with whom I had pledged to spend the rest of my life. We had spent enough time together for me to know that I could trust him with anything. Could I really not trust him to care for our child?
I began to hold my tongue and just observe his efforts. Over time, I learned something very important - just because he was not doing it my way, didn't mean he was not doing it right. When left to his own devices, daddy could daddy just fine.
I am proud to say that I am continually getting better at letting my husband parent in his own way. My daughter enjoys the time she spends with her father and has no problem adapting to his different parenting style.
Sometimes I worry when they start to play rough and chase each other shortly before bedtime. She goes to bed for him, however, just as well as she goes to bed for me.
Sometimes I wonder what he is thinking when he lets her eat more chips and pop than fruits and veggies for a meal. She's a healthy, growing kid, however, who's never been ill with more than a sniffle.
Sometimes he dresses her in socks that don't match her outfit or gets a jumper on backward. I guess when she's old enough to care, she'll tell him about it.
Until, then, it will just give my mother something to talk about.
"Her daddy dresses her, you know."
©1996 Tracy Million Simmons ~ Material on this site may not be copied or distributed without the authors permission.