My daughter, like me, used to always be a late riser.
I've never been particularly fond of waking up early. I can stay up as late as required, but waking up before 7 AM? That never happened unless necessary. And, apparently, my daughter decided to take after me.
When she was little, bedtime was often a battle.
No amount of cajoling worked. She would sleep late, wake up late, and, for some reason, insisted that her dad put her to bed. Not me. Her dad.
So there would be my husband, weary-eyed and exhausted, staying up until she finally fell asleep.
I didn't complain too much about this arrangement. 😄 She would sleep past 11 PM and wake up after 9 AM, which meant that even on the days I woke up late, I had plenty of time to finish most of my morning tasks before she was up.
It worked rather well for me.
Until one morning, when she woke up at 7.
I fed her and somehow managed to get another half hour out of her. At 7:30, she woke up again — crying and insisting that her dad put her back to sleep.
He had just woken up himself and was getting ready for work.
She wouldn't stop crying.
He came in to check on her, and she wanted him to carry her. I could see him trying to reason with her.
He told her he had to go to work.
She cried harder.
He told her again.
She cried even harder.
And what could he do?
He picked her up.
So there he was, carrying this little sleepy, crying child around the room, glancing at the clock every few minutes because he knew he had to leave.
I, meanwhile, very cleverly took this opportunity to finish my morning rituals. 😉
After about ten or fifteen minutes, he finally had to hand her over to me and say goodbye.
With a very heavy heart.
I remember that moment.
I remember thinking that he really didn't want to leave her crying like that.
On a weekend, he would have happily carried her around for as long as it took. He would have stayed. He would have let her fall asleep in his arms.
But it wasn't the weekend.
It was a workday.
And he had to go.
He is a man of few words. He doesn't always say what he's feeling. But I know he missed her when he left for work every morning.
I know there must have been days when he felt guilty too.
Guilty when I complained about how exhausting it was to manage everything at home with a little child.
Because I knew that if he were home, he would help.
I know there must have been days when he would have much rather stayed home, lazed around with us, played with her, taken her out, or simply done nothing at all.
But he had to go to work.
Because... well... work.
We talk so much about a working mother's guilt.
The guilt of leaving a child behind.
The guilt of not being there for every little thing.
The constant juggling of work, home, children, expectations and emotions.
But what about fathers?
Don't they feel it too?
Perhaps they just don't talk about it as much.
Perhaps we've conditioned men to believe that providing for the family is their responsibility, while missing the family is something they simply have to swallow and get on with.
A mother who gives up her career for her child is often understood, even applauded.
A father who wants to stay home?
That's still a different conversation.
Thankfully, things are changing. Slowly, but they are.
And perhaps we need to talk a little more about the fathers who leave home every morning while a tiny part of them wants nothing more than to stay.
Years later, I don't remember every detail of those exhausting toddler years.
But I remember that morning.
I remember a little girl who desperately wanted her dad.
And I remember a father who desperately wanted to stay.
So, to all the dads who head to work every day while leaving a little piece of their heart behind at home —
Happy Father’s Day.
We see you too. ❤️
– The Mother Duck Says 🦆
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