A few weeks ago we made an important decision in our house: we would be pulling our 14-month old twins out of full-time day care. They would be joining their 3 1/2 year old sister at home. And the primary caretaker would be their father.
At the time, I was a little bitter. I wanted to be the one to stay home full-time. As the mother, I felt I was not only better suited, but I felt a sense of entitlement to the part. After all, I carried them, endured bed rest, delivered them, and nursed them. Shouldn’t I get the reward of spending oodles and oodles of time enjoying them now? But, circumstances of our household and current employment situations mean – Dad is the man for the job.
I am now home on bed rest (with child #4) and I’ve had plenty of time to observe and over-hear daily events in this house and I realize – Holy Crap. He IS better for the job. He’s Superdad.
And what is his superpower?
Nerves of Steel.
While I have the patience of a saint, I have the nerves of, mmm, straw, perhaps? And with the boys finding their footing and learning to climb, move furniture, wrestle, etc., I find, I am not suited for their full-time care at this point. I can barely breathe when they get going. I want to wrap them in bubble wrap and keep them in furniture-free zone. My husband on the other hand is not phased one iota by their shenanigans.
And everyone is happier and more relaxed as a result.
He even managed to take all three out of the house yesterday to give me some peace and quiet. Where was his chosen destination? Shoe shopping (for himself) and the Apple Store. Yes, a mecca of electronics so breakable and expensive I barely touch anything when I go in there by myself. Was he nervous? No. He just pumped right on in there with three kids and proceeded to consult with an employee about some issues on his laptop. As a result of his ease, the children behaved. If I were to duplicate this adventure, my stress level would have them so ramped up, we would all be running out of there crying. He then proceeded to take the three of them out to lunch. In a restaurant. WHAT? I’m shaking at the thought of doing that. And they all ate, and the staff and other patrons loved them.
So, yes, I wish I didn’t have to work and could spend hours on end with the children. But, perhaps I will keep quiet about that desire until they are, say, seven? Or at least able to know enough to not to try and walk upright under the kitchen table, practically knocking themselves unconscious in the process.
Thanks, Superdad. You’re my hero.