My 6-Year-Old Asked Her Teacher, ‘Can Mommy Come to Donuts with Dad Instead? She Does All the Dad Stuff Anyway’

 

Ryan was always a good man. Steady, loyal, hardworking. And when our daughter, Susie, was born, we settled into roles that made sense—at first.

He worked long hours at the firm. I worked remotely, often bouncing Susie on my knee during meetings. I became the one who handled it all: the doctor’s appointments, the bedtime routines, the scraped knees, the exact way Susie liked her apples sliced. He helped occasionally—with the dog, maybe. I convinced myself it would balance out.

But it didn’t. As I climbed the ladder at work, I was also holding the household together with threads pulled taut. The invisible labor stacked up—field trips, lunches, lost socks, birthday RSVPs—all filed in my brain, running constantly like a never-ending checklist.

Ryan didn’t intend to rely on me this way. He just did. And I let him.

Every time I brought it up, his answers were the same.

“I’ll help this weekend, I promise.”

“Just remind me, babe.”

“I don’t know how you do it all.”

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