My eldest is 5. She was born a month ahead of time and turned me into a mom one Friday morning.
The first and last time any medical staff member referred to the existence of another person in the room was already after the birth, when the midwife asked the girl's father if he was about to faint.
It is important to note that he was not about to faint, but was simply shocked by the eighth passenger scene that took place there, a few moments before.
Mostly, he really cared about me.
"Apply her ointment," I was told.
"Give her 120 milliliters," they explained to me.
"Bring her to weigh in next week."
From that moment on, nurses, doctors, clerks and salesmen in children's stores - everyone talked to me instead of us and treated him, sorry - did not treat him, just as if he did not exist.
This is despite the fact that he has always been there by my side, drinking in concentration every word that comes out of their mouths.
When he asked a question or made a comment, treat him like an idiot, who would screw up anyway and have to explain everything to him slowly and in as simple words as possible.
The consolation, unfortunately, the new father did not find at home.
I, too, was a beginning mother, anxious and full of hormones, and my whole body cried out "Move! You're not good enough."
I'm ashamed to admit to you that sometimes my mouth yelled it too.
Luckily, fortunately, I was blessed with an extraordinary partner.
Not because of his incredible ability to absorb insults, but because from the first moment, he demanded (!) Take part in every task and take full care of his daughter.
I, in my nature, thought I was freaking out.
"Do not hold the bottle like that!" I scolded him, I, who had learned how to do it exactly the day before.
"She needs to go to bed," I scolded, just as he picked her up from the stroller for a hug.
I think about those moments today and cringe.
It was a month and a half before I dropped the token.
The baby is not mine - it's both of us.
I do not let him take care of her - we take care of her together.
I'm neither the supervisor nor the foreman or the boss, and he does not give me an account, even when he thinks differently from me or makes some mistake.
I learned that it's not so critical to do everything, but everything, in my own way.
It is much more critical that her mother does not give instructions to her father as if he were an idiot, and that her father does not feel as if he owes someone explanations when it comes to his child.
Dear women, for decades we have been brainstorming how to divide the physical and mental load, how not to put ourselves aside, how to cultivate a career alongside caring for children and at home, when all this time we have a player sitting on the bench instead of on the field, and in too many cases - we Those who seated him there.
Do not get me wrong - it makes sense for each parent to take on what comes naturally to them, but when mothers take on 80 or 90 percent of child care, and when fathers get applause for taking the child to the garden, something is fundamentally screwed up here - and it's not Only through your fault.
"Defective Dad" groups reinforce the assumption that something is wrong with you men.
Like smearing baby pasta instead of sunscreen or putting the diaper upside down in your DNA, and there's nothing to do about it. But that's not the case.
Compared to the celebrity on duty who is interviewed and proud that he "helps his wife" with the children, a statement that drives me crazy every time again, there are more and more men who are interested in excelling as fathers, and also succeed.
The absurdity is that all too often, we, the women, are the ones who instill insecurity in them and blow up with "How do you not know that?"
I see it everywhere, even here in "advanced" Tel Aviv: "Put a sweater on her," "Do not swing it so hard," "She will fall like this," "Wipe her," "Feed him," "Give me "I'm going to do it."
Our eldest is 5 years old, and I'm still better at braiding and baking birthday cakes.
But he's much more patient than me when she loses it.
I cut her nails, and he makes up stories for her and makes her roll with laughter.
I'm not an "investing mom," and he's not a "flawed dad."
We both do what we are good at, and also what is less, together.
Today I know that all the profit is from the girl, and also from her younger brother.
Were we wrong?
Fixed!
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