Christine Kelly Reads and Writes

To be clear, this is in response to the speech by that one kicker that I can never remember the name of (thought it really seems like it falls closely with Butt-Kick?). But at the end of the day, it’s not worth remembering…BUT his speech is.

I also want to state here, that my husband truly is wonderful. He cooks, he cleans, he does things that most men don’t. But *clap with me*…THIS IS THE POINT.

Everyday, something happens, where I think, “Damn, it must be nice to be my husband.” Not because of what he expressly does, or chooses, but because of the cycle of misogyny we can’t escape, even when we try.

When balls-kicker said that a woman’s worth comes when she becomes a mother, that was one moment of a normal day where I thought of my husband, and how nice it must be to be him. Why?

He has never once been told his worth starts when he becomes a father. His worth started at birth, when he was born a man. And while his worth now as an adult is ‘provider,’ with a monetary value attached, my worth is ‘invaluable’ as a mother, and I’m told my reward will come in 20 years time.

I think the reason the speech has lingered with me for longer than I’d like is because motherhood and I don’t get along. I want more worth than mothering. I want more in the world than refilling sippy cups and carting kids to and from school. I want more than meal planning and extended bedtimes routines.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I love being a mother. I look at my kids and think there is nothing more perfect on this earth. But there is a difference– my love for my kids is different than my loves of the actions it takes to be with them often. Daily. For a long, long time. Because at the end of the day, I don’t have that turn off, or that immediate(ish) return of a paycheck or a reward. I’m exhausted. Depleted. I am unfamiliar to myself. I love being a mother, and dislike mothering.

That is why it’s nice to be my husband.

Because at the end of the day, he has a paycheck he cashes. Yes, he’s exhausted but when the dog drinks water he isn’t sent over the edge from overstimulation. When my husband needs to go on a trip, he doesn’t need to reach out to family or babysitters to be sure our kids are taken care of. Because I’m here. I’m mothering. He is father. He is provider. He is himself. But I am mother.

I have made it point in our marriage to push back against the things I don’t want to do, or that I don’t feel are necessary in the scheme of my to do list (truly he cleans more than I ever will). I have always made it apparent I have more to do than take care of our kids, because that brings me joy. Of course their health and safety is priority. But it’s important to me that people know I can love my kids, and love being away from them. I can put in the work to make them good people by putting in the work to make myself better and do things that serve me. I do not want me day to revolve around their schedules, I want a mixed bag of pick up and drop off, meetings and planning. It’s possible to weave together the duty of motherhood and the duty to one self to be sure we as woman are not lost to the antiquated expectations of us.

So ball kicker, I’m here to tell you, no. No, my dear sir, my life also started when I was born. And while you may not put worth to it until I serve you in a way that pleases you….I put worth in myself by putting myself first, before motherhood. Before wife-hood. Before your misogynistic views.

I am a woman, and my life has served a purpose long before my kids were born.

It’s good to be my husband. And I’ll fight like hell to be sure it’s good to me too.