Well, maybe it does so I'm beyond grateful that my husband swooped in and saved me from this expectation. I didn't see myself as a damsel in distress. I was just a tired mama. How many tired mamas are there in the world? And how many of us have a husband who says, "Go back to sleep. I got breakfast." Not many of us, sad to say, but I do. And he doesn't know how nice that is but I do.
It's not just breakfast, too. He's like the instant pancake chef. When the littlest boy asks for pancakes, his Papa drops everything and whips up a batch. Breakfast. Brunch. Lunch. Merienda. Dinner. Not all the time and not all day because my kids may love pancakes but they don't want them every day. So when they do ask for pancakes, their Papa is happy to give them that.
The boys are always happy when their Papa is in the kitchen. As feminist as I am, I must confess that I'm still the one who cooks. Thankfully, it's not because my husband thinks women belong in the kitchen. It's simply because I was raised to be a housewife so I'm just better in the kitchen than my husband. We're trying to teach our kids differently. Mama cooks, Papa washes up. Papa is learning to cook more dishes, too. Japanese is his thing now. He's spending more and more time in the kitchen and getting the boys to help him out. So now we have 2 sons out of 3 who want to cook. Ladies and gentlemen, we are succeeding in this thing called parenting!
It was just a tantrum. I got over it soon enough. But instead of telling me to stop being immature, my husband just decided he'd take over pancake duty. He saw beyond the anger and saw my despair. Such a small thing to be upset about, right? Anyone would've told me to snap out of it. Anyone else would've dismissed me. But my husband didn't. And that is what makes him special.
I don't know if my kids know this, too, how special it is to have a papa who loves their mama so very much. I grew up with a mother who would cry to me because my father ignored her needs all the time. So I learned to harden my heart and keep quiet about mine. My husband has to figure me out. Sometimes he gets me wrong, but just the fact that after 22 years he still keeps trying is more than enough to convince me that this marriage is not like the marriage I grew up watching, that what I have is magical and special and truly the stuff that fairy tales are made of. Except mine is real.
Maybe my husband and my kids don't know how nice that is. But I do. Oh, I do.