Divvying Up Duties of Child Rearing

I wouldn’t want this generation to think that equal opportunity for child rearing and domesticity started with them.

There’s always been a group of men who shared responsibilities for kids and chores long before Phil Donahue and Alan Alda came along. But it always had a few bugs to be worked out.

For example, when our first child was born my husband wanted to be a part of it, so he said, “We’ll divide the child rearing. I’ll take care of the top of her and you take charge of the bottom. I’ll stick in the bottle and tickle her chin, and you do whatever you have to do at the other end.”

This went on until the child began to cry in the middle of the night, throw up, spit and throw temper tantrums. “I hate to bring this up,” he said, “but my end is getting out of control and will take more time than I can give it. Since your end is on automatic and requires very little time now, why don’t we just change sides for a while to break the monotony. You take the top and I’ll take the bottom.”

A couple of months later when his end was running through the neighborhood naked and playing in water and kicking holes in bags of sugar at the supermarket, he said, “You do such a great job at the top, I’ve decided to give you the bottom and I’ll be in charge of maintenance.”

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“It means when something breaks down I’ll have it fixed. I’ll bring in food and drink for fuel and in general keep her in running order.”

“That sounds fair,” I said. “For starters, you can look into glasses, braces, booster shots and regular visits for her allergies. Oh, and she’s beginning to toe in, so check out orthopedic shoes.”

“I don’t suppose there are any warranties.”

“Not a one,” I said.

“On second thought,” he said, “maybe I should serve as a social director and be in charge of her social activities. I could read her stories and plan birthday parties, take pictures of her eating ice cream and things like that.”

“Great! You can start by teaching her how to ride a two-wheeled bicycle. And there’s a Scout cookout this weekend, baton twirling classes and. . . .”

“I’m trying to make this easy for you,” he interrupted. “And it’s obvious I could best lighten your load by serving as a consultant.”

“That sounds OK,” I said. “Then I won’t have to make all those decisions about driving a car, staying out until 2, or whether or not she pierces her ears.”

When the second baby arrived I said to my husband, “Here comes another equal opportunity. What role do you want with this one?”

He never hesitated. “Executive producer.”