I am the MOM

I remember when I first became aware of the differences between boys and girls. It was about third grade, and at school we were watching "Free to Be ... You and Me," Marlo Thomas's 1970s ode to gender-neutral parenting. I came home eager to tell my family, "Girls can do anything as well as boys." (In that era of nascent women's rights, things were still very much benchmarked against the male experience as the standard to be achieved. I much prefer the subtler direction of today's movement, which comes closer to "both boys and girls can do what they prefer.")

My father, ever the grinning devil's advocate, challenged my claims to equality. (He has always been my strongest champion for equal opportunity, but he loved to provoke us.)  We argued back and forth about the equivalent worth of the sexes.

"Name one thing that a boy can do better than a girl," I taunted.

It was my ever-logical older brother who cut the bantering short. "Sure. Going into the boys' bathroom."

I gave up in frustration, feeling that my nascent sense of equality was not being taken seriously by my family. To be honest, though, I wasn't entirely sure that I wanted to continue the discussion, because I was harboring a secret. I distinctly remember, even at that age, recognizing that I did NOT believe in the equality of the sexes. In fact, I felt a profound pity for all males. I frequently offered up a silent prayer of thanksgiving that I had been born a girl, because only girls could carry a baby in their womb, nurse an infant, and be a mom. Even before I entered my second decade, I desperately longed to become not a parent, but a mother.

And so it is this reality that I try to recall on the difficult days. The times when bedtime, which could involve two loving parents, seems to be all about four needy children clamoring only for Mom, all at the same time. The times when I am supposed to be home but not home, closeted away to work, and the kids will walk past Dad to come ask me for things. The times when my husband, who is truly a caring, involved parent beyond what most men even strive for today, seems unaware of and even uninterested in some basic issue related to the kids - what they are struggling with in school; whether they have clothes that fit; who feels lonely and needs more attention or just a play date.

"Why won't he look at things the way I do and act more concerned?" I moan to myself. Why? Because he is the dad, that's why. And every day, I thank God that I am the Mom. For all the good and the bad that that entails.