It’s a picture-perfect scene: My husband and son listen to "O Fortuna," acting out a dramatic battle between good and evil, Jabberwocky vs. Godzilla. My son is in heaven, acting along, mimicking my husband. Both of their eyes are lit up with excitement as they continue to play. Once again, my husband has struck gold with my son with an epic playtime before bed. It’s everything and it melts my heart. Yet as I watch them, I ask myself: Why am I not happy too?
I’m envious
It’s not that I don’t want to be happy and fun. I’m just tired. I’m tired from a full day with my son. It included fun playtimes, I suppose, but nothing of this caliber. I never seem to get into the moment because there is always something to do. There are dishes to put away, meals to prepare, or something else that calls my attention throughout the day. I’m tired from all the “mom stuff.”
It’s not like my husband relaxes all day. He has a demanding job. But somehow he comes home and is the hero, every night. My son waits for him by the door, ready to sprint into his arms for a big embrace. In turn, my husband is ready for an extravagant bedtime routine and a theatrical Oscar-winning storytime performance. The story alone can extend bedtime for 45 minutes.
Compare that to my short and sweet bedtime routine, where I bathe my son, read the same two books, and complete the entire routine in 30 minutes, with my son asleep five minutes later.
My son has asked me to 'tell a story like Daddy'
I can’t. Only Daddy tells of great adventures. The truth is, despite earning a law degree and being a licensed attorney, I barely remember my own name at night. I don’t have the creative energy to tell a colorful tale to send him off to his dreams. He’s noticed.
I try to share in the joy but I can’t seem to. I confess I prefer the short and sweet night routines. By the time bedtime rolls around, I am near my breaking point and it’s all I have left to give. I long for my own bed — the darkness, stillness, and quiet.
I guess that’s just it: I’ll never be the fun parent — I’m the mom
I'm not resentful of my husband, just jealous. I'm glad they share those nighttime routines. It’s something they will always share, without me. I wish I could create such playful joy at the end of the day with my son and husband, but it’s not possible.
Although it is jarring to admit I’m the stiff parent, I serve a unique role in my son’s life, just as my husband does. I am the nurturing one, his security all day long, the one he knows will always be there.
My husband is exciting, challenging my son to break his routines and creating new ways to play. My role is not as glamorous and I know my son needs both. But sometimes I wish I could bring the excitement that my husband brings into the room.
I’ve always loved the bedtime routine
My son is calm, extra cuddly, and loves to just talk. There just is something so sweet about exchanging “I love you” right before bed. But perhaps it would be better if I let go and allowed my husband to completely take over bedtime duty. After all, it’s one of his strengths. I would get much-needed rest and my husband would get quality bonding time he misses out on throughout the day.
My fun-loving husband makes his own sacrifices — like when my son tells him that it makes him sad when he leaves for work, which must hurt to hear. There are other times my husband feels left out. When my son falls down, rather than crying for dad, he calls for mom. When he wakes screaming from a nightmare, we hear him call for me on the monitor. It’s those times my son seeks security.
We each have our roles to play as parents and we support each other in our different parenting styles. One isn’t better than the other, and my son relies on each of us. At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter if I’m the “fun” parent. To my son, I am home, but my husband will be the one to show him the world.
