I didn’t know I was signing up for a middle-management job where I’m the CEO, the janitor, the cruise director, and the emotional support animal.
MUTHA readers know the stats. We know that mothers still do triple the amount of “cognitive labor” as fathers. But let’s stop calling it that. “Cognitive labor” sounds like a white paper. Let’s call it what it is: mutha magazine
My husband walked into the bathroom and asked, “Hey, what’s the plan for dinner?” I didn’t know I was signing up for
The cruelty of the default parent role isn’t the exhaustion. It’s the of the work. Because if you do your job perfectly, no one notices. The kids get to school. The socks match. The prescription is filled. The silence of success is the absence of crisis. And in that silence, the world tells you: See? It’s not that hard. You’re just relaxing. But let’s stop calling it that
And then I’m going to sit in the uncomfortable, glorious silence of not knowing. Because the goal of motherhood shouldn’t be to run the machine perfectly. It should be to burn the manual and teach everyone else how to build a new one.
Welcome to default parenthood. It’s not a title you campaign for. It’s a slow, insidious coup where one day you wake up and realize you are the only person in your household who knows the Wi-Fi password, the children’s clothing sizes, the name of the weird rash, and that the air filter needs changing.