Battle of the sexes? Bin there, done that
IN over three years of parenthood, I’ve noticed the smug moments are few and far between. Panic, doubt, terror and exhaustion all pop up multiple times hourly, but complacency? Not so much.
So I would like it noted for the record that this week, I had my first experience of the satisfaction that comes with knowing you’ve definitely done the right thing for your child.
I realised – and just in time for today, International Women’s Day, no less – that I’ve accidentally done a brilliant job of raising my son as a feminist.
This magical epiphany came out of a slightly less proud moment, which most parents will recognise – when your kid
asks you to do something and you cannot be arsed.
My train-obsessed boy detailed his requirements for the track he wanted to be constructed at some length. I replied that this definitely sounded like something his father would be great at doing. He wasn’t taken in at all. “But you’re much better than Daddy at building,” he said, confused. I don’t want to blow my own trumpet here, but he’s right – turns out that, against all odds, I am in fact a staggeringly gifted train-track builder. My husband, meanwhile, does all the cooking. It started as a necessity – I was banned from the kitchen because he prefers to remain alive – but he enjoys it, and is good at it. One Sunday a few weeks ago, he made a roast while I built an Ikea flat-pack cupboard. I wish I’d noticed how modern and amazing we were being at the time, so I could have made sure Albie was alerted to it, but I didn’t, because we were just being normal – and anyway, I was far was too busy swearing and crying.
I’m the one who changes batteries in toys, so my son has seen me with a screwdriver in my hand far more often than his dad. It is my firm belief that all creases drop out with wear, eventually, so he’s only ever seen my husband doing ironing.
Albie knows that despite being married his dad and I have different last names and doesn’t think it’s anything other than perfectly normal. He doesn’t know how much I wish, with hindsight, that he had a doublebarrelled surname even if it does sound posh and silly, rather than automatically taking his dad’s, but that’s not for him to worry about.
He also sees both his parents working and dividing the housework as close to equally as is possible with a mum who has such OCD standards that she often has to re-do things
properly. Most importantly, he knows that I take the bin out.
I wish I could say I’ve done all this on purpose... and actually maybe I have, subconsciously, because of the way I was brought up. But if the happily accidental result of our behaviour is that our son grows up knowing that there are no girly or manly chores, interests or choices, and that the two sexes are equal, who cares?
Obviously an important part of parenting is to protect your children, too, so I’m pleased I’ve also done that as well. Taking the bin out is literally zero fun, so I’m glad Albie’s such a staunch feminist he’ll never have to do it.
He made a roast while I built Ikea flat pack