I’m the Default Parent — Even in a 50/50 Marriage

I didn’t marry a man-child. I married a burly, bearded, beautiful man who loved to cook (still does). Who lit candles while making pasta from scratch. Who knew how to fold a fitted sheet, cried during Pixar movies, and would rather lose a limb than make me feel bad for burning toast. We shared chores, swapped dog walks, balanced our lives, and supported each other seamlessly like a pair of soulmates who just got it. And for a long time, it worked. Our home life ran like a dream. Then we had a baby.