He’s got dark, almond-shaped eyes that pierce through my heart, shiny brown hair that smells like Spring, and a giggle that echoes from the chambers of his tummy. I’m tickled, amazed, and in love with this little man.
He’s my 3.5-year-old son.
I also adore the big man of our family, my wonderful husband. He’s everything I’ve ever wanted in a partner — kind, confident, and reliable. No doubt, I’m the luckiest woman alive.
On some evenings, I’ll walk into our bedroom to find my son’s head resting on my husband’s chest, his little face peacefully content. There are days when I look at that and a blanket of warmth envelopes me with a knowing that I’ve hit the jackpot when it comes to the kind of father I want for my son.
On other days, it feels like I’ve been punched in the gut. I have to hold my tears lest they fall on my cheeks. I’m confused when that happens. Why am I sad? Am I selfish? As long as they’re happy, what else matters?
It turns out I’m jealous. It’s not easy to admit it, but I envy how well my husband bonds with my son.
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The dethroned mother bee
When we found out we were pregnant, I was elated especially because as an older mom my chances of conceiving are no more than 3 or 4 percent.
I was doubly excited when the doctor announced we were having a son. Society tells us about the tender and unbreakable bond between a mother and a son.
I imagined cuddling him as he looked into my eyes, knowing that I was his mama whose voice he heard soothing him as he floated in my womb and the one who took extra good care to avoid caffeine, chocolate, sugar, white carbs, and medicines to ensure his growth.
The one who cut open her stomach (aka c-section) to have him, endured swollen hands for a year after that and tore her nipples from breastfeeding. I thought these counted for something, but apparently not.
Not when your husband can do everything you can.
My husband changes the diapers, sings the lullaby as my son drifts off to sleep, and soothes him with a caring hug when he trips on his toys. He also bakes cakes with my son while praising him for whipping the eggs “all by himself.”
As soon as my husband comes home from work, my son runs to him and my husband lifts him high and twirls him around in a circle as my son cries out, “More, more!”
They sit on the sofa while my husband asks my son about his day. He listens attentively, “Wow, you did that.” “Wow, I’m so proud of you.” My husband puts my son first every time.
At the same time, my husband can do things I can’t like fixing the roof and cutting big branches in our backyard. When my husband mows the lawn, my son imitates him by pushing his little toy lawn mower.
You see, in our family, my husband plays the role of both mother and father while I have one role, the mother. My husband fulfills my son’s every need, including tasks traditionally expected from a mother.
No wonder I feel like my throne as the mother bee has been snatched away from me, leaving me desperate for a role where I feel needed.
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The shifting role
In our parent’s generation, mothers were seen as warm nurturers, while the dads were the breadwinners who came home at night. But in the last two decades, there has been a significant shift in parental roles.
A recent study shows that dads now see themselves as equal partners to moms and want to play an equal role in their children’s social and emotional development. And fathers today are more engaged with their children, too.
But we don’t need any studies to tell us that.
We see evidence of that around us (mostly in Western countries). Fathers walk with their babies in a stroller or feed their babies bottled milk. They play with their children in public parks and grocery shop with them.
Mothers are still doing more household and kids-linked tasks, but our guys are doing more than our dads did. We can now expect dads to pitch in on diaper duty, cook, and clean the house. Dads are not only invested in their education, but they also care about fostering emotional intelligence.
These are positive things, but they can also lead to mothers feeling like they’ve been forced out of their traditional role as mothers.
Moreover, a survey by Fatherly found that 63 percent of fathers envy stay-at-home dads, that’s two-thirds of working dads who would rather stay home to take care of their children.
They also struggle with something working mothers have struggled with for generations — “dad guilt” for working too much and not being “present” enough for their children.
Does that mean fathers are slowly becoming more like mothers and mothers are becoming more like fathers?
Perhaps.
It could also mean that men are becoming more comfortable as caretakers. According to one study, although women still make up the majority of family caregivers, 40% of family caregivers are now men, up from 33 percent from a decade ago.
This is good news for the feminist movement. Women have worked hard for equality in gender roles.
Yet there’s no denying that one can be a feminist and still have that nagging voice in the head telling us to caretake. Society has been hankering down that message on us since the beginning of time.
Even in this time of colorful gender fluidity, I think we can agree that it essentially comes down to this — women believe they’re the gentle, loving caregivers of unconditional love and men the providers, protectors, and fixers.
Probably that’s why I feel…what’s the female version of emasculated? It turns out there’s none…interesting. The best version I could find is defeminized.
That’s why I feel defeminized when my husband can do what I can well, sometimes even better.
I love that my son has a great role model in my husband and that he’s father material. I read about women having to mother their husbands or husbands who work too much, leaving the workings of the household to the wife.
In a way, I envy that since there’s a clear line separating the roles of moms versus dads.
But do I want a workaholic husband? No, not at all. I’m grateful for the way my husband is.
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Talk it out
Experts advise that the best way to handle jealousy is to talk it out with your partner, so it doesn’t mutate into something more serious. So, I did — in the way writers do — by having him read this.
My husband is in no way new to reading my stories. He’s my editorial assistant (he would argue it’s more like the editor) and robust at plucking out mistakes like a hawkish Anna Wintour (Yes, he’s a great editor, too).
As expected, my husband willingly took the assignment of editing my work. I waited and glanced at him every once in a while so he wouldn’t notice me dissecting his facial expressions for a hint of confusion or bewilderment.
He gave me nothing.
Then after a few minutes, he looked up and smiled, his boyishly handsome face reminding me of my son, and gave me a warm bear hug with his big biceps, making me feel so loved.
“I didn’t know you were feeling this way. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you, babe,” he said.
I teared up.
“Do you need more alone time with Ken? Let me know what you need,” he continued.
“Okay, yeah,” I mumbled.
The next minute, my son came over and hugged both of us. We looked down at our little bundle of joy and giggled.
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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You may also like these posts on The Good Men Project:
White Fragility: Talking to White People About Racism | Escape the “Act Like a Man” Box | The Lack of Gentle Platonic Touch in Men’s Lives is a Killer | What We Talk About When We Talk About Men |
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Photo credit: Mikael Stenberg on Unsplash