Parenting
My partner is infuriatingly perfect.
He’s the type of person who jots everything down, never misses a bill, and always remembers to swap out the air filter. His closet looks pristine, and there’s not a single crumb from last month’s fast food in his car. He has a memory like an elephant and hardly ever forgets anything.
In short, he’s my polar opposite.
While I may seem like I have my life together on the surface, I’m more like a discount store in the aftermath of a holiday sale. My laundry piles are perpetually teetering, my car could probably sustain a small village with its six-month-old leftovers, and my days are a whirlwind of managing the chaos brought on by my teenagers. To put it simply: I’m falling short most days.
Before kids, I was all about adulting. I kept detailed lists, had a reliable schedule for chores, and my car was always clean. I even wore makeup daily, and when I put on yoga pants, it actually meant I was going to work out. I prioritized intimacy, and my husband was always at the top of my list.
But somewhere between diaper changes and school projects, I lost the plot. And it seems I won’t be getting it back anytime soon.
When we decided to have kids, our financial situation allowed me to stay home and take on the caregiver role. I embraced the day-to-day tasks and relished not having to wear “real” pants regularly. I traded my career for the chance to run our little family unit, believing that my contributions at home would be just as valuable as my husband’s job outside the home.
That arrangement worked for a bit. But then motherhood took the reins, and the toy clutter began to pile up. Meltdowns disrupted my attempts to unload the dishwasher, and playdates that ran late threw naptime out the window. The endless needs of my kids completely derailed the schedule I had painstakingly crafted. For someone like me, who craves control, that loss felt like discovering your favorite coffee shop has gone caffeine-free. And oh, the laundry—there’s just so much of it.
Now, 13 years into parenting, I feel like I’m not pulling my weight. My husband is consistently on top of his responsibilities—providing for us, tracking minor details like the mortgage and retirement, and always making sure my car has gas. He’s just as busy, if not busier, yet he never falters in supporting our family or me. On days when he comes home to a house that looks like a disaster zone, I can’t help but feel a twinge of guilt. Some days, I have to ignore the dirty dishes while I battle with insurance companies, and at other times, the laundry goes untouched because our dog had an upset stomach. I’m in the trenches every day, wishing I could ensure my family has clean underwear more consistently than I currently do.
Despite my struggles with the daily grind of stay-at-home parenting, I try to be gentle with myself and practice self-compassion. I prioritize my family every day, and thanks to my nursing background, I’m pretty adept at managing the daily emergencies my kids create. Everyone has what they need when they need it; it just isn’t planned out a week in advance like it used to be, and that’s okay.
Marriage isn’t about perfection. It’s not a checklist to be completed daily. It’s about showing up each day, knowing your partner is giving their best effort. My husband understands that I’m doing everything I can from dawn until dusk and has learned to chuckle when I mess up. He never expects me to be a superhero and never makes me feel inadequate. When he looks at me across our chaotic home with the same fondness he had 20 years ago when I was an organized whirlwind, I realize he loves me, not just my to-do lists.
He embraces my imperfections, and he knows that when he stumbles, I’ll accept his flaws too. That’s simply what being married means.
Every relationship has its own “glue,” and I guess that’s a role I can claim. Glue can be messy, sticky, and sometimes hard to manage. It’s clear when too much or too little is used, and the key is finding that balance. Glue can hide a multitude of imperfections and can restore even the most broken items. It’s resilient, dependable, and strong. So yes, I’m the glue in this partnership—the kind that fixes the best kind of mess. And my husband is stuck with me, imperfections and all.
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In summary, parenting is a chaotic journey filled with ups and downs, and while I might not always hit the mark, I’m learning to embrace my role and the imperfections that come with it.