“Must Be Nice”.

Recently we were at a baseball game, as a family, and had an interesting, yet super common experience with a complete stranger. An hour into the game, Sean announced he’d take Lola, Eva and Walker home and start making dinner. We had taken two cars because it was pre-decided that at 6:30 this would happen and I would stay to see the last hour of Javi’s game. We started packing up, and an older woman nearby glanced over and said “wait a minute, am I hearing this right? He’s going to take all the kids home and start making YOU dinner?”

I smiled and said yes. And she repeated herself, two more times. So jokingly, I said, I know I got one of the good ones. She continued “well, yah he’s taking all your kids home and making YOU dinner! I can’t believe it!” So I said, I mean I do a lot, but yes, he does a lot, too. And she said “You do a lot, honey, I haven’t seen you do a thing since you got here.”

Let’s back up.

After I got two school-aged kids off to school in the morning, with their snacks, two cold waters, packed backpacks with notes for teachers and enrichment supplies, I worked remotely all morning. I spent all day with two kids — fed an infant every three hours, after being up with him in the middle of the night for feeds, changed his diaper, rocked him to sleep, wore him in an ergo to console his cries… all while being the snack supplier, hair brusher, band aid dispenser, nail trimmer, hydration station, puzzle builder, board game player, and teacher of letters and sounds to a 4 year old. I brought her to speech therapy, ordered the groceries, picked them up, and put them away. I collected the laundry for our family of six, washed, dried and put it all away. I ordered new sneakers for the child who outgrew theirs. I paid our bills, called the pediatrician, rescheduled the kids dentist appointments, and made lists for our upcoming trip. I did all this in between hand washing bottles, constantly tidying the house, and ensuring the kids got plenty of time outside and not too much screen time.

I arrived to the game with three kids, a car seat and a stroller, snacks and drinks, a picnic blanket and activities, sunscreen and bug spray, camping chairs and a fully stocked diaper bag so that I could sit… and “do nothing”. Oh and, we were at this baseball game to begin with — because I found the opportunity, initiated the sign-up, filled out the medical paperwork, bought the required equipment, washed and dried his uniform, imported the baseball calendar into our family calendar, packed his equipment bag, and sent him on his way.

But at the end of the day, none of that matters, ever. What matters to every person is your husband makes you dinner? Your husband takes care of your kids? Your husband spends time with you? Your husband wakes up with the baby? And then what always, always, always follows is: Must be nice.

Must be nice. Must be nice is my new version of “at least”. After my miscarriage, well-meaning people would say things that started with “at least”. At least you weren’t too far along. At least you won’t have a sick baby. At least you know you can get pregnant. At least you have other kids. I began to hate the phrase, at least.

And now, I hate must be nice. Is it nice that Sean is an equal partner in our marriage? Of course. Is it nice that we work as a team and support our kids’ interests? Of course. Is it nice that he makes the time to put them on the bus, attend classroom ceremonies, and cheer for them at games? Of course. Is it nice that he can cook? Obviously. But no one’s going around Sean saying your wife did your laundry? Must be nice. Your wife took care of your kids all day? Must be nice. Your wife spent hours going back and forth with a teacher over a problem at school? Must be nice.

No one says anything about it. Because what I do is just expected.

Everything I do as a wife and mother is familiar and what he does as a husband and father is a novelty. There’s an expectation that I should do everything, and be everywhere and stretch myself in every possible direction for these four kids, our home, our marriage, and our life. And most times, I do. I’m everywhere and all over, and I love it because it’s where I want to be at this stage in my life. But in those moments, where I’m dismissed and ignored for doing what I do every day and he’s praised for [basically] showing up, I think… must be nice.