In the early stages of parenthood, my partner and I naturally gravitated toward our respective roles, which have persisted over the years. As the primary caregiver, I have a deeper understanding of our children’s routines, preferences, and quirks. I enforce bedtimes, determine if dessert is appropriate, and keep track of any lost screen time. My partner, on the other hand, excels in playful activities—he can spin our kids around in circles, engage them in video games, and immerse himself in imaginative play scenarios like “Airplane Zoo Driver” (a title that requires no explanation).
When I am away, the household dynamic shifts dramatically. The children share our bed with their father, participate in makeshift indoor volleyball tournaments, and engage in continuous tickle fights. Conversely, when my partner is absent, the environment remains consistent. Bedtimes are strictly observed, homework is completed before any screen time, and our children often find ways to amuse themselves. In essence, my role leans more towards structure than play.
Initially, I was unsettled by our differing parenting styles. Not out of resentment for my assigned role, but because societal pressures made me feel that being the “less fun” parent was a negative attribute. The rough-and-tumble play, full of energy and exuberance, didn’t come naturally to me. I questioned my parenting skills—what parent doesn’t want to engage in play with their children? The expectation to be a different, perhaps “better” parent—more playful and entertaining—felt burdensome, akin to a nagging ache.
Recently, however, I have found comfort in embracing my parenting style. Sure, I may be the one to announce, “bedtime in five minutes!” while the boys are lost in laughter over an inside joke, and I would prefer anything over playing “Airplane Zoo Driver” (truly, don’t ask). Yet, I happily participate in Just Dance, color for hours, and play multiple rounds of Candy Land without complaint.
I’ve come to appreciate the joy of stepping back from their fun and observing from a distance. For instance, one evening after picking up my partner from the airport, the children eagerly requested a game of hockey in the driveway. The air was chilly, and dusk was settling in. I suggested it was too late and cold, to which my partner responded with a playful pout. I whispered that I had merely intended to give him an excuse to rest, but encouraged him to go ahead.
While I prepared dinner, I watched them through the window—my partner outside in sweatpants, fully engaged with the boys. I contemplated joining them but chose to remain inside. This distance allowed me to witness moments I might have missed if I had joined in. I observed the admiration in my younger son’s eyes as he looked at his dad and the way my older son tested his boundaries with a confidence he reserves for his father. Most importantly, I could see the genuine joy radiating from my partner’s face, unobscured by the responsibilities of being a referee or disciplinarian.
This perspective provided a soothing balm to my earlier discomfort, allowing me to appreciate the richness of our family dynamic without feeling compelled to alter my role.
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In summary, embracing the identity of the ‘not as fun’ parent can be a source of unexpected joy and fulfillment. By stepping back and observing, one can appreciate the unique dynamics of their family and find contentment in their parenting approach.
Keyphrase: unexpected joy of being the less exciting parent
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