Dollhouses & Superheroes

It was an exhausting day. Pretty exhausting, actually. A Friday at the end of the week, where we usually want to slide comfortably and tiredly into the weekend, but it was clear: scheduling chaos, lack of childcare, and time pressure required support from the grandparents.

When they come, the joy is great – the kids are ecstatic, the husband too, and I feel, at first, just a little pressure, then a bit more. The planned lunch out quickly turns into an emergency at my husband’s work, keeping him from leaving the house. And so I find myself at the stove, grabbing the leftover ingredients to whip up something somewhat respectable.

You might think, “It’s your own fault.” After all, there’s Foodora.

True. So what is it that keeps me from picking up my phone and calling the savior in times of need? It’s probably not the expectations of others. For a while, my kids would loudly yell, "Food’s here!" every time our doorbell rang.

No, it’s something inside me. Deeply buried, wanting to prove to everyone that I can do it all. To show them that I can manage everything. Even cooking for everyone on a day when I had actually asked for help because I didn’t have time. And now, here I am, sitting in the evening, tired, with wet hair on the floor of our living room, wondering if this is all a story about gender.

Could it really be so simple? That my husband finds it so easy not only to ask for help (hey, I did that too!) but, above all, to accept it? What is it inside me that makes me, after cooking, make coffee, fix a fruit plate for the kids, and then do my bookkeeping? Maybe it's the "caring gene."

I know the "caring gene" well. My heart swells when I can take care of my kids. It’s only recently that I’ve realized I sometimes do them a disservice by doing so. But is this just something ingrained in women, or do men have it too? Men, after all, take care of things differently. Earning money and such. Another topic. Another blog post. A lot of anger on that subject, but that’s beside the point.

Maybe the "caring gene" is passed on to us from birth. Right next to the doll we will later play with, dress, and style – take CARE of. In my little brother’s crib lies Superman in his tight suit and red cape, ready to save the world.

I think I get it.

Good night!