
It was a knife-slice to the heart. When did Daddy become the smart parent? How did I lose that status? Did I ever have it? Is it because I am a stay-at-home mom? Is it because I am a woman?
There are many roles and titles that I’ve learned to accept throughout my motherhood years. I am the default parent. Want to know the rules? Ask Mom. Want to stay up late and eat sugar? Ask Dad. Mom insists on vegetables with dinner; Dad’s more likely to swing in to Taco Bell. I make them pick up their toys far more than Daddy does. And I get on the floor and play far less than he.
I accept that he’s the fun one. And that their time with him is more special, as he works and travels a lot. Their time with me is… well, all the time. So it is easy to take me for granted.
I am okay with all of that.
I am not okay with Dad being the only smart one. Who builds massive Lego projects with you? Mommy. Who helps you with your homework? Mommy. Who takes you to the library? Mommy. Yet, if something is mentally challenging, the go-to response is, I’ll ask Dad. Continue Reading