It was a Friday morning, and I was rushing out the door, coffee in hand, laptop bag slung over my shoulder, guilt quietly gnawing at me. Our toddler’s daycare was closed for the long weekend, and while I had meetings stacked back-to-back, my husband had the rare luxury of a four-day break. He was thrilled to spend time with our child—he’d planned a grocery run, a park visit, and even a messy art project at home. I kissed them both goodbye, grateful and a little envious.
Later that afternoon, he texted me a photo from the checkout line: our toddler grinning in the cart, surrounded by snacks and crayons. But the caption stopped me cold: “Boomer lady said I was babysitting. I told her, ‘Nope, just being a father.’ She looked horrified.”
I stared at the message, a mix of pride and frustration swirling inside me. It wasn’t the first time we’d heard this. Somehow, when a father spends time with his own child, it’s seen as noble, even heroic. But when a mother steps away to work, she’s questioned, judged, and sometimes even shamed.
That evening, I arrived home to a happy toddler and a husband who was still simmering. “She acted like I was doing something extraordinary,” he said. “Like I deserved a medal for showing up. But you do this every day—and nobody claps for you.”
He was right. I’d lost count of the times I’d been asked, “Who’s watching the baby?” when I showed up at work events or social gatherings. Once, at a baby shower, a woman looked at me with pity and said, “You’re lucky your husband is willing to babysit.” I wanted to scream. He’s not willing—he’s responsible. He’s not babysitting—he’s parenting.
The double standard is exhausting. Society still clings to outdated notions of motherhood as default and fatherhood as optional. When dads engage, they’re celebrated. When moms delegate, they’re scrutinized. It’s a narrative that undermines both parents—and it’s time we rewrote it.
My husband is not a sidekick in our child’s life. He’s a co-lead. He changes diapers, packs lunches, reads bedtime stories, and knows exactly which stuffed animal our toddler needs to fall asleep. He doesn’t “help”—he parents. And I don’t “abandon” my child when I work—I provide, I model ambition, and I show my child that love and responsibility come in many forms.
We’ve both faced judgment. He’s been called “Mr. Mom.” I’ve been asked if I regret “missing out.” But what we’ve learned is this: parenting isn’t a performance—it’s a partnership. And every time someone praises him for doing what I do daily, it’s a reminder of how far we still have to go.
So the next time someone calls a dad a babysitter, I hope he responds like mine did: with quiet defiance and pride. And the next time someone shames a working mom, I hope she remembers that her worth isn’t measured by proximity, but by presence, intention, and love.
Because being a parent isn’t about gender—it’s about showing up. And we both do, every single day.
