Ash had our kids over the weekend while I went on the netball trip. I was away for a freckle over 24 hours but that’s the longest I’ve ever been gone and I’m slightly embarrassed to say I was a bit anxious. Not for him and the kids, I knew they’d survive, but anxious in a sort of exposed way. I know it’s weird, but I felt stripped bare, I couldn’t hide behind the kids anymore, couldn’t look to Ash if I did or said something embarrassing (his cringing face is oddly comforting).

It occurs to me that I have been institutionalised, not dissimilar to career criminals who can’t spend longer than a day outside before searching for a way to get locked up again. Freedom looks great, but there’s something reassuring and safe about the day-to-day rituals of home. Plus, of course, I love my boys a lot.

Thankfully some good company and cold beverages soon put the ‘I’ve forgotten something important’ feeling to rest and I enjoyed the wonder that is a girls trip away. 
When I arrived home, slightly worse for wear, I found Ash sprawled on the lounge room floor semi-conscious with a toddler prodding his weary face. 

‘How’d you go?’ I asked, a wry smile crossing my face.

‘Good. It’s bloody hard work though isn’t it?’ he replied. He looked knackered.

‘It sure is. You did good. They’re both still alive, both fed, both clothed. Thanks for letting me go, I had the best time.’ 

And then he replied with what was possibly the best thing he could’ve said to me:

 ‘It’s important for me to do it. It makes me see what you do everyday. It’s full on, you do such a good job.’

I’m not so much of a weirdo that I write down our conversations, it’s just that when something moves me I remember it. I cherished those words because they made me feel loved and important. They recognised the mighty job that is raising kids. Whether I ACTUALLY do a good job is up for debate but the fact he thinks I do is nice to hear.

I’m not going to do a spiel about the challenges of parenthood, we know it well enough, but sometimes a few words can make all the difference, and at that moment they were everything I didn’t know I needed. I absorbed them into my little soul and felt fresh energy for what I do everyday.

I am a huge believer that ‘comparison is the thief of joy’. Some mothers aren’t ready to leave their kids for more than a few hours, while other mothers leave their kids regularly for work or social reasons, power to them.  Some fathers stay home solo with the kids all the time, some fathers are less confident, or less inclined. Do what you do. We’re just fumbling along like everybody else. 

Whatever the situation though, a little empathy goes a long way. Mothering is tough, but fathering holds its own set of challenges. Kids get used to the mum-routine, they know the expectations, the rituals, how much to push and how much to surrender. The stay-at-home parent is also very well rehearsed in weathering the tantrum storm.

When dad takes over the reigns that frame can move. The predictability that babies and toddlers thrive on falls away, which can be exhausting for both parties to manage. I think it’s important to acknowledge that it’s not always easy for a dad to step into the hole a mother leaves, in fact it can be downright nerve-wracking for them. 

It felt nice to give each other a pat on the back and say ‘you’re doing good’. Because mostly, we all are, aren’t we?

Eliza xx

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