When was the last time you sat at the table, eating dinner by yourself because everyone else has eaten, eating in silence, looking down at nothing in particular, just shoveling it in? For me, this feels like the norm. For me, this feels like every night.
The baby is down but I still scarf down the food, because, well, that’s what I’m used to doing.
And while I’m not living in dismal, black despair, I can’t help but feel tired and dejected.
Having two kids, man. It’s no joke. One kid is hard because it’s your first time being a parent, first time needing to figure everything out yourself. But it brought us together. We were a team. We figured things out together, celebrated all the victories and milestones together.
Two kids though? We fend for ourselves, each responsible for a separate kid. What’s worse, when I’m done putting the baby down, the other is just winding down and going through the bedtime routine. I go and help, because well, I partly don’t get enough time with him and partly because the dishes can wait. And then when he’s also down, it’s time to clear and wash the dishes and prepare Ollie’s lunch for school. By the time I’m done, it’s 9pm and I’m spent.
I know it gets easier, but right now it’s bleak.
The inequality of the mom and dad roles is so much more glaring with two kids. Yes, Lily, this all falls under your purview — Work a full day. Prep dinner. Pick up your kid from school. Make dinner. Give the baby a bath, feed him, put him to sleep while everyone else eats. Shovel in dinner by yourself. Give the toddler his bath/reading bedtime stories because he doesn’t want baba or grandma. Do the dishes. Make his lunch. Clean the house. And guess what! You get to do this all over again tomorrow!
What falls to the guy? Work. Come home. Eat dinner. Play with son. MAYBE give him a bath/read stories. Make a drink. Surf iPhone.
One brought us together, two feels like it’s tearing us apart…