Sistahs are doin' it for themselves

It seems only fitting that when my office is celebrating international women's week (or day), I have chosen this week to assert myself with regards to this whole co-parenting lark. Although I too have a serious job, I think my company and role are just generally more flexible, not to mention having a fabulous and family-friendly boss, so I tend to be the one who ends up doing most of the Eve-care during the week.

In my more churlish moments I get annoyed about this. The Boy and I did, after all, have a discussion before I got pregnant about this and how we would share the role equally. However, like so many other couples I know, this doesn't quite worked out. It seems to be a combination of the fact that women seem hard-wired to make the whole bloody show work, and that it is still more socially acceptable for a woman to say she will be in late/leave early because of family commitments than it is a man.

So, since Eve has been born there has been an unspoken assumption into which we seemed to fall without ever discussing it that I would be home to put her to bed unless I specified otherwise. I sometimes get resentful of this inequality, but then I realise it means I adjust my life so I can see my precious daughter for at least a couple of hours every day and I am the winner in all this.

However, tonight I had to stay late. It was not life or death, but it related to a big project in my new job with a tight deadline and I wanted to be able to finish the meeting rather than, at 6pm, say I had to go. So I told the Boy this morning that he would have to get home to put Eve to bed. Then I sent him an SMS reminding him of this commitment.

Guilt-free, I had a great meeting with my boss and the team. For once I wasn't rushing to fit it all in and had some great ideas and all were happy.

Now the Boy is cooped up in the bedroom on a con call (having not been able to work while he bathed Eve), just like I had to last week while he was away. And not before time.