Balancing Act

My husband and I are similar in many ways, but we are not identical. We have enough differences in opinion and personality to keep just the right amount of friction in our relationship. Our parenting styles work in a similar way. We talk about and agree upon all of the big decisions, but the way we handle the little things reflects our differences. Fortunately, like any good team, we work together to cover our weaknesses, and try to assign the best parent for any given job.

Example 1: PlayDoh. I love PlayDoh, don't get me wrong. It's fun, it smells delicious, and there's something decadent about squishing it through a Fun Factory and watching it turn into spaghetti right before your eyes. However, I am a little...strict about PlayDoh rules and regulations. PlayDoh colors should NEVER be mixed together, and that includes removing every bit of one color from the Fun Factory before jamming another color in there. I am not the right person for a three year old to play PlayDoh with.

My husband, on the other hand, will watch the color-mixing carnage with a smile and encouragement. When it's all over, he happily rolls the various grayish balls back into their tubes without a shudder or a whimper. He is a stronger man than I.

Example 2: Crying. I have a much higher tolerance for crying than my husband. It upsets him when are kids cry for any extended period of time. He is a "fixer", and if he can't calm them quickly, he gets agitated himself and has to walk away. When our daughter first came home, she would have a nightly "fussy period" that just about drove him over the edge. In that time, I stepped in and did most of the swaying, shushing and whatnot, until she finally conked out.

Though most of the crying duty is relegated to me, I have my own breaking point. My husband knows when I hit my limit, and steps in to use our ultimate secret weapon for a crying baby: the car seat.

Example 3: Roughhousing. I was never a particularly rough and tumble kid (ie, a boy), so it is mystifying to me when my son wants to be running, jumping, flopping, crawling, you name it, all over the house. This is definitely my husband's department. I watch with visions of broken bones and poked out eyes, but so far all body parts are intact, and we've yet to have a concussion.

This category also includes jungle gyms/indoor gyms. While our little guy was too small to go through on his own, my husband was right behind him, squeezing his adult body into colorful plastic tubes designed for grade school kids. Mommy does not do that.

Example 4: Bathtime. Since my son was born, bathtime has been my responsibility. When he was very small, he would come into the tub with me, and we would splash around together. Our babies are much more tolerant of water when Mommy is there too. As he got older, I was the one who could wash his hair without soap in his eyes, and tears.

Now that our daughter is here, my husband has taken over my son's tub duty, and he's doing a great job. Does this mean that soon I'll be mixing PlayDoh colors willy-nilly? Don't count on it. But maybe the next time our son is playing on the jungle gym, I'll let my husband hold the baby, and I'll swing on the monkey bars with our little monkey.