lucky

I live in a house where both the adults do a pretty equal amount around the house.

We never formally structured it that way. My Lovely One and I both work for ourselves and we have both made the conscious decision to not work as much as we could. Our daily lives are pretty fluid. And so the amount that we each do around the place shifts according to who has what on outside of our little home. But if you took an average month, we would be pretty balanced when it came to childcare, cooking, admin, cleaning. You know, that stuff.

But you know, the curious thing is this: I don’t know how many times people I know, people who know how we live our lives, have told me that I’m lucky. Lucky that my partner [the dad to our delicious baby girl] looks after her happily and willingly. Lucky that he does the dishes without being asked/told. Lucky that he cleans the bathroom. Lucky that he’s a good cook, who actually cooks. Lucky that he helps me around the house.

They tell me these things and then wait, I think for me to agree. But I don’t agree.

I’m happy about the way we are together. Definitely happy. But lucky? That we share work equally? No way.