In my experience, dads see the world differently and parent differently than moms. I don’t want to promote stereotypes. Believe me. I just want to acknowledge that we moms tend to take a more serious approach to parenthood. I mean, why wouldn’t we? We percolated a tiny human being within our own bodies, paying close attention to every need that embryo had. We ate differently, we exercised more purposefully, we rested hands on a growing belly and whispered sweet nothings to the wonder inside. Our connection is strong, innate.
Dads have to wait, in a real sense, for that baby to appear in the world. Yes, they can talk to the tummy and lay hands on the baby bump, but that baby is and always will be separate in a way moms don’t experience. But enough emotional insight. Here’s the real deal:
Moms, we need to let Dads care for our children in their own ways. Let them do things differently than we do. (Okay, just breathe.) Let them be the dads they want to be for your children.
Different is Good
My kids had “Daddy Days,” as we called them. My ex-husband is a chef, and his days off were during the week when I worked a regular 9-to-5 job. On those days, he was supposed to manage kids and home. He mostly did, but rarely in the way I would have. Breakfast would happen by lunch, lunch by late afternoon. More television than I would allow, but more playing outside than I would choose. More relaxed, more spontaneous, which I did not appreciate at the time. I viewed his approach as threatening to the very well being of our children. I demanded he do it right, which was MY WAY. I created discord for no valid purpose as it turned out.
My kids loved “Daddy Days” AND they loved the routine of regular days. There was no choice to make that one style of parenting was more right than the other for them. My children learned that their parents were individuals with different interests, different styles, but the same love for them.
Agree on the Ground Rules
We did have to set some ground rules, though. For instance, I came home from work one day to find my five-year-old daughter with skinned knees and elbows — not unusual for her, but notable. No one wanted to explain what happened, until she confessed. She had been roller blading in front of the house and Dad let her hold the back bumper of the car as he pulled up the driveway. [Cue loud screams from me] Luckily the injuries, which could have been much worse, were minor, and we had a family discussion on safety and wise decisions. We acknowledged their shared desire to be daring but the need to be safe.
Confession: Many years later, I learned that much of my safety lecturing fell on deaf ears. The children encouraged their dad to keep up the daring escapades with a strict pact not to tell me. To this day, I am still blissfully ignorant of much of what they attempted, only knowing about the two times that required an ER visit for stitches.
We also had to discuss what house rules remained in effect no matter which parent was in charge. Things like making your bed each day, brushing your teeth each morning, walking the dog, etc. My ex-husband needed me to guide and encourage him to be his best Dad. He wanted a framework but he did not need a rigid set of instructions. He wanted me to give him the space to be his own kind of Dad. He did not need me to remind him at every turn that he was doing things the wrong way, the “not my way”.
The Kids Get It
In the end, perhaps it is just allowing each person to have the room to be their own kind of parent. Not just following stereotypes but following our own strengths, our interests, and allowing each to bring our children along for the adventures. By eventually letting their dad be his own kind of Dad, my kids learned more about us as people, not just parents. They learned that Dad could create magic from leftovers (hot dog fried rice is still requested) and Mom could pull together a Halloween costume on October 31st. They learned that Dad would take them on tree-climbing adventures and Mom would plan family trips to remember (they still talk about the forts in St. Augustine, although the story is always about my daughter puking at the feet of the park ranger). They know we are not the same but that we have the same desire for their well being. We love them differently but with equal strength.
So, Moms, take a deep breath. Let the dads be the dads they can be. Together, your distinctly imperfect union will nurture some distinctly imperfect, absolutely amazing, abundantly loved humans.
