I spend the first few hours of everyday coaxing a very unwilling toddler to get up and get ready for school.  It is a taxing morning ritual that wears on one’s patience in ways that only a testy toddler can. Much to my surprise I’ve quickly adapted to this new routine in spite of my initial apprehensions, which had me convinced two days in that this thirty-two year old broad would not survive the first week of preschool.

And so, my daughter’s first week in her new pre-school was not the slap in the face I expected it to be (At least nor for me, she would most certainly recount a very different version of this story). With my partner on mission I started the week in full on self-sufficiency mode. Surprising myself, I managed to get up two hours earlier than usual, get ready and get our little monster to school on time, before 8 am, every day of the week.  No small feat for someone who had not so long ago accepted that they were not a morning person and never would be. So what happened? I realized that being physically alone awakens in me a sense of hyper-efficiency that is not often attainable as a couple, at least not without considerable effort. This is so contradictory to the paradigm of the perfect two parent home that so many of us hold in high regard. But the truth is, that perfectly functioning home, with two equally contributing parents, rarely exists because our very flawed gendered world places women as the primary – and oftentimes sole – caregiver in the home. The other deterrent, as I’ve come to discover, is that the work required to instruct a father (who spends less time at the home) is often perceived as an onerous a job in itself. The result is that for many women, “doing” frequently seems like a much more efficient option than “delegating”. Nevertheless, in getting our daughter through her first month as a pre-schooler I quickly discovered that when it comes to raising a child, engagement and not efficiency was the far more important goal. All hands needed to be on deck if our daughter was to thrive in her new world as a fledgling academic and our family unit was to remain functioning and in tact. That meant I’d have to delegate and instruct, in the hopes that my partner’s greater involvement in the child care and domestic tasks in our home would lead him to habitual engaged parenting. It is a tall order, but one that has become increasingly important, not because I have some hidden feminist agenda (it  actually turns on I do – more on that later), but because I’ve also come to realize that it is fundamental to our daughter and family’s wellbeing.

To be clear, in the years before I started a family, the word feminist and its derivatives always felt foreign falling from my lips, conjuring images of radical braless women with bushy armpits; strange women with whom I thought I could never relate. I also avoid labels, which do a rather crappy job of capturing the complexity of whatever aspect of a person’s identity they purport to encapsulate. But after the birth of my daughter and our move abroad, I reluctantly took on another label – “femme au foyer”/ (housewife) – that would see me spend more time at home. Soon after, I gravitated and later dashed towards “feminism” with a lightening speed, characteristic of the record smashing sprinters with whom I share a common nationality.

Long before I came across the now infamous comic on women’s mental load, expertly illustrated by the French comic artist Emma, I was already cozying up to my new label, “FEMINIST”, giving it a long lingering braless embrace.  My experience as a new mom has taught me that even when there are two parents present in the home, it is often the case (in heterosexual relationships) that one parent – the woman – ultimately bears the brunt of the child care duties. Presence does not equate to equal participation. And anticipating extra help that might not come as needed can have the adverse effect of throwing the most perfected routines out of whack, creating disorder and ultimately pushing an efficiency focused parent towards greater self-reliance. But as I was quickly learning, though reluctant to admit, my laudable self reliance was actually leading to chronic fatigue, frustration and a brewing deep seated resentment that was becoming increasingly difficult to shake, permeating my interactions with my partner and my daughter.

I am the one that gets our daughter through her day, from the wee hours of the morning, coaxing her out of bed with the promise of a treat, to the end of the day when I have to dig deep for diversions to get her to hit the sacks. It is true, that there are blissful days when my partner and I are the perfect tag-team duo, picking up where the other has left off, each of us spending quality time parenting, managing also to tend to our individual needs as well as those as a couple. But these days of enchantment are the exception. Most times when he helps out, it is just that, “help”. Rather than feeling like a collaboration between two partners, towards a common goal of managing a household and raising a little human being to take on the world, I often feel as though he is engaged the execution of tasks most unnatural to his very essence. Sometimes – and I blame this on my own flawed gendered socialization – its makes me uncomfortable and I ask him to stop (thankfully he never complies with this irrational request). On very off days when things come to a grinding halt out of my sheer exhaustion (and silent protest), help trickles in falteringly with an underlying but palpable expectation of accolades (that I don’t usually receive or dare to demand).

The norm in our house is that as a woman and the parent who does not work outside of the home, I am at the helm of the ship, doing a lot of the steering alone, with a faint reassurance that the second in command is there to help. To give my partner some much deserved credit, we have long evolved past Emma’s now famous “you should have asked” retort. Instead, I often receive requests for instruction: “What can I do to help?” But again the underlying assumption is that I am commander in chief of all household and childrearing related tasks, a role that I have begrudgingly come to accept.

As each day of the new school year passed by, reluctantly embracing this role, I was driven towards greater self-reliance. Each day, getting up at the crack of dawn to get myself ready for the day, make breakfast, prepare her school snack, get her up, fed, dressed and ready for school I was hyper-efficient.  But then two events transpired that made me realize that this model, though efficient, was falling short. The first occurred during the second week of school. Fighting a cold, I overslept and woke up only to discover that daddy dearest had simply slinked past our daughter’s bedroom and headed to the gym, opting to avoid waking her up for school altogether. How could he have neglected doing something so intuitive? Simple, he had not been involved in the new routine that taking was hold in our home, and his morning priorities – wakeup, work out, get ready for the office- did not include the tiny tot, who was by now resisting her newly imposed schedule.

The second event occurred later that week. One morning, having finished all the preparations for school, I headed towards the door calling out for our daughter to join me so we could head out. I stood at the front door calling her name repeatedly but she was no where in sight. I found our three year old in her room, sitting on her bed, grabbing the bars of the bed frame with all the strength she could muster. She resolutely affirmed that she would not be going to school. As I sat next to her forcefully freeing her little fingers one by one, I realized that she needed more. With my energies squarely focused on efficiently executing all the tasks necessary to get her to school, I (we) had been falling short in providing her with the reassurance and comfort she needed to tackle an important life transition. I was but one person with a finite amount of energy that was being quickly depleted. We were doing her a great disservice.

Something had to be done. Instructions had to be dispensed by mom manager in chief. And so to preserve my sanity, general health and well being I have taken to instructing and explaining to meet the new demands on our family, as our daughter transitions into life as preschooler. The alternative is far more unsettling….