If I were a Boy (?)

 

Building a Duplo is my everyday tasks nowadays
(seems 'easy job', right?)

A long time ago, my mother often told me that being a boy is much easier than being a girl. Yeah, hold your horses, boy! Don’t get mad at what an old woman with three sons and a daughter has to say.

Lately, I’ve been thinking, she’s been right all along.

Yes, yes, yes, being a boy is also hard, especially when it comes to the responsibilities of being a breadwinner. But let me break it down—hear me out—so you can understand my point of view and be a little more understanding toward the women in your life.

Actually, it all started to become crystal clear when I was pregnant and then had my baby. First, there was the hormonal storm that completely took over my body and mind. If it’s supposed to be a partnership between a man and a woman, why does only the woman’s body go through all of it? Yes, yes, it’s my destiny. But still—that’s something to be envious of!

And I thought it would end there, but boy, was I wrong! That was just the beginning until my brain start shifting and hit the tip of the iceberg—the mental load of being a woman. The mental load that hit me the moment my baby was born. Something completely new to me. Mind you, I was a pretty carefree girl before the baby came along.

The mental load I’m talking about is the reel that keeps playing in my head—from the moment I wake up until I close my eyes at night. I think about what my daughter will wear today, what she will eat, how many calories she needs to make up for yesterday’s deficit, why she refuse all good Banana today meanwhile yesterday she ate it in a blink, what her schedule looks like, the sleep math and how to align it with mine, what she’ll play with—sandpit, water, or maybe introducing her to alphabets. How’s her snack today? Why didn’t she poop yesterday? Why is her poop’s texture weird? Should I buy that imported, expensive prebiotic that Mamagram promoted? Why did she suddenly stop giving me kisses? Did I do something wrong yesterday? Was I too harsh with her? What parenting book should I read next? Did I cause her emotional scars? Bla bla bla.

And it doesn’t stop with logistics or food. I try to project and anticipate the environment to protect her. What if it rains when we go to the playground? Or if it’s too hot? Too windy? Should I pack a raincoat? Sunscreen? A jacket? Windbreaker? Umbrella? What’s that sound outside disturbing her sleep? Why does light seep through the curtains and ruin her nap?

From mundane thoughts to deep philosophical ones—what if I die? Will she be okay with her father? Will she miss me? Remember me? Forgive me?

Believe me, I’ve tried to stop thinking this much, but my brain is wired differently now.

And here I am, a housewife, with my daughter 24 hours a day. Yes, I chose this life—but does that mean I’m not allowed to feel tired of my own mind?

Surprisingly (to me), playing with a 2-year-old every day takes a lot of patience and creativity—and sometimes, we have a toxic relationship. She bites and throws things at me. I get mad, then feel guilty afterward. She cries a lot and I often have no idea why. Sometimes her silly reasons are just cute. But on other days, I feel like I’ve had enough—I lock myself in the bathroom while she bangs on the door, crying and calling for me. Then I feel like a failure.

I used to think being a housewife was a generally laid-back job. The kind where you can nap whenever you want—what a luxury that seemed compared to being a working woman! I didn’t realize that even if you can nap, it’s often the only moment you get to be calm—not overstimulated, not touched, not needed, not called on by a little person.

And most of all, I bet men don’t carry this kind of mental load. They don’t even remember where they put the keys or their socks—and always come asking their wife where she put them (as if her mental load wasn’t already enough!).

I know that mothering and fathering are entirely different roles, and I truly understand that. But still, that’s the part I envy about being a man.

A man can say: “Beb, I’m going to hang out with my friends—just for a bit,” on a Sunday, a day his exhausted wife has been dreaming of spending reading quietly while he watches the kid. Just for a bit, maybe two hours.

Then he goes. He might send a line or two asking if everything’s okay at home—and enjoys his time to the fullest.

If the roles were reversed, and the wife wanted to meet her friends on a Sunday—even for not long—she would prepare everything for the kids before she leaves. And during the not-long outing, her mind would still be at home. Did her husband feed the kids healthy food? Did he actually play with them or just stare at his phone? She ends up calling or texting to check in. On a bad day, the child cries for her and they end up video calling her mid-meetup. And just like that, those precious two hours with friends are gone.

Yup. That’s the difference I envy.
I wish women could go out for two hours to meet a friend without worrying or feeling guilty.

No—don’t start talking about how men also do a lot. Working their bones off to feed the family, dealing with office politics, chasing careers, climbing the ladder, or managing a mountain of tasks.
Trust me—I’ve been there. I never thought about my job 24/7, nor did I feel guilty for needing to rest during work hours.

Now imagine the mental load of a working mom.
She’s both a mother and a worker. It’s beyond comparison.

Again, I understand that's my destiny and my choice being a woman and a mother that I am super grateful beyond anything that given to me in this life. 

And then there’s this:
A man gets praised for playing with his kids at the playground: “Oh wow, what a loving father!”
Meanwhile, no one bats an eye at a woman doing the exact same thing. Yeah, it’s her job anyway, right?

See, women are constantly being undermined, treated like second-class citizens.

Even when a husband helps around the house, hold it, let’s be real—the word help itself is problematic.
It’s not helping.  It’s also his responsibility, to care for his children, to do the laundry, wash the dishes, even cook.

So what's the point of my ranting? Because I read somewhere that writing it can help my chaotic brain merge into calm river, also I need to feel being my self again. Able to write anything in my mind. 

But, it must be a point, right?  How about how can a man help his woman? To easing out the chaos in her mind, to not feel left out and trapped alone in this world since her child born in this world? 

I think just show an appreciation to woman.  She’s building a life (yes, maybe with your money or hers)—but it’s a life that’s fundamentally important and absolutely priceless.

Show her how thankful you are for everything she does—no matter how chaotic your home might be right now. You don’t need to give her diamond earrings or Chanel bags.

Just something simple, like this:

When someone appreciates your kid, appreciate the woman who raised them. Treat her like the Queen in your mind. 

Example:

“Wow, your kid is so tall!”
❌ Wrong answer: “Yeah, it’s in my genes.”
✅ Right answer: “Yes, my wife is really thoughtful about her diet and protein intake. And my genes may be as an addition.”

“Wow, your kid is so smart!”
❌ Wrong answer: “Yeah, she is basically born smart.”
✅ Right answer: “My wife went above and beyond teaching her herself.”

Even if it’s not all done by your wife, it’s still good and important to acknowledge her work, especially in front of others.

Some people will say, “If you’re overstimulated by your kids, just hire a nanny.”
Let me tell you; a nanny isn’t the solution for everything. It’s not just a luxury or a “love language” from a husband to a wife. Some people choose not to hire a nanny because they want to be 100% involved in their kids’ development. And even with a nanny, a mother doesn’t simply stop thinking about her child’s logistics, well-being, and emotional needs. If anything, it often just adds more to her mental load.

Same goes for daycare.

Why?
Because women and men are wired differently.
And that’s what I envy most.

So yeah, maybe all of this is just a long ramble. Maybe I gain nothing from writing it—except a little peace of mind.
Likewise, I’m just trying to reconnect with the part of myself that’s been buried since pregnancy.

But if you’ve read this far, I hope you walk away with even just a sliver of understanding, why women seem easily stressed or overly sensitive sometimes? 
Because, truthfully, there’s just too much going on in her head.
And sometimes, she didn’t choose it to be that way.

It’s not easy being a woman.
That’s something you need to remember.
Because you’ll never truly understand, unless you are one.

Please note that this ramble is not an angry post. Please read it with open mind and in a positive tones. Haha.