I have a good job, a loving husband, healthy kids and a comfortable home. I came late to it all and I sometimes can’t believe my luck: that the sleep-warm little bodies I help dress in the morning are my own children, that the man in my bed at night helped me make them. But the clichés about motherhood and aging and that ever-elusive work-life balance did not quite prepare me for the clichés of my life.
Time slides by in a haze of emails that need answering, tushies that need wiping and Cheerios-encrusted floors that need more than the feckless Swiffering they’ll get. Did I smile yesterday? Not at the playground, where time tic-tic-tics so slowly, amid all the hand-holding, swing-pushing, witnessing and refereeing. I am on antidepressants, of course, like nearly all of my female friends.
I seem to care more than my husband does about whether the kids get exercise or do their homework, or whether the floors are vacuumed and the pantry is stocked, so I handle most of that stuff. I also fill out the forms, cook the meals, make the doctor’s appointments and pay most of the bills. At night, when I’m usually back at my desk, I am careful to “schedule send" emails for 8 a.m.
because the actual timestamp is embarrassing. Also, I am happy. At least I’m pretty sure this is what contentment looks like for me.
Apparently, I have lots of company. A forthcoming paper in the journal Social Indicators Research analyzes 11 surveys of 167 countries and finds that always and everywhere, regardless of how the question is asked or what measure is used, women say they are more anxious, more depressed, more tired and more pessimistic than men. They are less likely than men to recall smiling or enjoying themselves the day before and are more
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