When Eric and I got married, I was six months into a pregnancy that felt like the world's happiest accident. We had already decided that he would quit his job to care for our daughter. My publishing job offered creative freedom and a decent paycheck. Eric was still struggling to get a toehold on his culinary career. We both felt strongly that one parent should be with the baby, so this seemed an easy solution — I would make and manage the money, he would handle childcare and household duties. Our new marriage was a partnership and we felt confident that each of us would play an equal role.
For a while, it worked. Eric was a natural at fatherhood, and Madeline blossomed in his care. As much as I hated being away from my baby, knowing that she was with her dad made leaving her bearable.Yet, even during the best days of our marriage, I felt constant pressure to bridge the gap between the countless hours Eric was able to spend with Madeline and the meager time I eked out on weekends and evenings. Even when I was exhausted, I refused to allow him to get up with the baby when she cried in the night. Those quiet moments of bonding belonged to me. I declined social invitations, afraid to miss a minute with my child. But to admit to jealousy made me feel guilty. This was the way things were, a simple fact of our lives together. Madeline was home with a parent who loved her — even if that parent wasn't me. I could live with it.
Slowly, though, things began to change. My job became less satisfying, my commute longer. We had a second baby. Eric struggled to adjust to parenting an increasingly busy three-year-old and a newborn son. I frantically juggled giving Madeline constant attention while still finding time with the baby, who was often just minutes from bedtime when I arrived home at night. Eric kept a handle on the childcare, but his grasp on most other responsibilities began to slip. My work woes left me no patience for the many nights when he prepared little more than a cereal bar for dinner. We both felt overwhelmed and exhausted. Worse, we felt trapped in our roles.
Read about how Hanna and her husband worked it out here.
