Jeff and I were discussing how different the big kids are with the two of us (innocent angels for him and raging terrors for me.) Since he’s been traveling so much for work, he’s really taken the role of good time dad. On the weekends, he’s the one who takes them to the zoo, to the mall for new toys, the park, the children’s museum… Every activity seems to culminate with cupcakes or ice cream.
He’s become good cop to my evil, disciplining, teeth scrubbing, well-balanced meal enforcing bitch. He’s relishing in his role. Frustrated, I fight back. You may be the fun parent, I say, but when they’re hurt or wake up with a nightmare at 3 am who do they call for? Me, I gloat. So there.
So? says Jeff. Who wants to get up at 3 o’clock in the morning with crying kids? Go ahead. I’ll sleep.
That, I tell him, is the difference between a father and a mother.