It’s amazing to me that in the 21st century, spending half of the day cooking dinner, the other half taking care of your child can actually feel not only good but rewarding. Brent and I have worked out this system where I’m in charge of dinners Monday – Thursday and he’s in charge Friday – Sunday. The way we’ve defined it is whomever is in charge must make all decisions concerning dinner, what to make, or decide we’re going out and choose a restaurant. For me half the fun of my “days off” is not having to think about dinner.
On Sunday, I decided I was going to make Beef Goulash, never made before by me or Brent. Last night I proudly cut the onions, red peppers and garlic knowing that my planning ahead was genius since I wouldn’t have much time today. Then today after putting August down for a nap, I spent the next thirty-six minutes putting together the rest of the Goulash and then watched it cook the rest of the day. Although I found myself humming along through the recipe, I was petrified that all this work would turn out to taste like shit, the meat would be chewy, or the onions too crunchy. But I crossed my fingers and toes, and continued on. Brent came home, played with August and put him to sleep while I assembled our meal. We sat down, and it was delicious, I mean really quite good. Even my harshest critic sitting across the table from me thought so – not one negative comment. And at the end he said, “Today I felt like a man -sitting at work, making phone calls, sending out emails, putting out fires, and coming home to a home cooked hot meal on a foggy day”, and he laughed slightly awkwardly knowing that those words sounded funny. I asked him if he enjoyed that, and he shirked his arms, and admitted that yes he did. We laughed, and I shared that I too felt like a woman today, and enjoyed it.
It really is funny to know that our gender specific roles do feel good from time to time. Brent and I have spent a lot of our relationship in a role reversal, so I think we’re enjoying feeling at ease in our own skin. He doesn’t have to feel like the “bitch” and I don’t have to feel like the “dude”. Maybe we’re a bit old-fashioned that way, but for now it’s working for us, and who am I to complain about “feeling like a woman”?