Like any challenging new job, househusbands get a grace period to learn survival skills and tricks of the trade. My grace period expired long ago. Even if we assume I have an incredibly generous boss (I do) and accept that it takes 10,000 hours to become an expert, I can’t claim rookie status anymore. I shouldn’t have any difficulty reaching deadlines or finding creative solutions to routine problems. Based solely on the experience I’ve racked up, there should be talk of promotions, or at least Employee of the Month.
Instead, when my poor wife walks in the door after a busy day, she doesn’t see a home June Cleaver would be proud of.* She’s gotten good at hiding her disappointment with the piles of dirty dishes and unfolded laundry. And I’ve gotten good at pretending not to notice her disappointment. We both know how to play to our strengths.
The dishes are cleaned and the laundry folded. Eventually. But something is holding me back from achieving househusbanding greatness.