Real dads change diapers.

We're in the middle of a series on marriage in Sunday School (which has been completely and totally awesome so far, I must say).  The first Sunday, the speaker was a male counselor who spoke to us on how women think.  He said that we think in "pop-ups" (if you will), whereas men think in compartments...one thing at a time.  The pop-up thing is true.  It's no wonder I feel constantly overwhelmed.  My mind goes faster than I can pen a list.

Yesterday, the speaker was a female counselor who talked to us about how men think.  We all know what she had to say, right?  (wink, wink)  Yeah, that's right.  Apparently the sex compartment is a big, regularly opened one.  She reminded us that our bodies are each others, which reminds me of the verse: "This explains why a man leaves his father and mother and is joined to his wife, and the two are united into one."~Genesis 2:24.  When two become one (how many of you just hummed the Spice Girls?). 

We had started the talk with a discussion on how the men in the room proposed to their wives.  There were a lot of romantic stories.  The counselor shared hers, which she casually mentioned was probably less romantic because of the generational difference between her and our class.

A big fat "Phooey" to the so-called 'generational' difference.

I could preface this blog with a praise of my husband, and I will.  He is exceptional.  He is not scared of cooking, cleaning, taking care of babies.  Perhaps I just lucked out.  Maybe I'm a *really* good judge of future-husband material.  Whatever the reason, he is the only husband I've ever had, and is therefore the barometer by which I measure other men.

Since becoming a mother, I've heard so many praises, especially from my parents' generation and especially from women, on what a phenomenal father Sam is.  (I know.  He really is.  Thank you.)  But it doesn't stop there.  A sort of personal history comes with the praise.  Something like, "My husband *never* gave baths/changed diapers/cooked dinner/played with the kids."  Sometimes it's, "Wow, the guys these days.  Fathers just didn't do those things way back when."  I've even heard (from a male), "What are those *men* doing on the floor in the kitchen cleaning up the glass?  You wouldn't catch me dead in there doing a woman's job." (True story.)

Here's my take on the reality of the situation.  The generational excuse is dead.  Women hate the smell of poopy diapers just as much as men.  Women have re-entered the workforce, so the man can cook dinner from time to time.  When I hear women who are beat-down and exhausted lament their husbands failure to lift a finger, I don't tolerate the "woman's job" excuse.  If you have kids, they're his kids too.  If you have a house, it's his house too.  If you're a dual-career family, the woman simply *cannot* do it herself.  There aren't enough hours or caffeine to make that feasible.

So, huge props to the men of my generation who have broken the mold.  Hooray for the Sams.  Thank you for doing the undesirable jobs from which the fathers of yesteryear were curiously excused.

When the two become one, we must cease to be selfish.  This means having to change diapers, having to help with the plumbing, and maybe just maybe it means having sex anyway when we just really don't feel like it.  Marriage is not bliss.  Marriage is hard.  We're promised that.  Marriage means sometimes doing what we don't want to do.  But in the end, (in my six days shy of seven years experience) marriage is worth it.  Every day.