I once worked with a woman who firmly held to the notion of co-parenting. She and her husband rotated 24 hour caregiving shifts, each transitioning every other day into active duty. Every ride to school, every packed lunch, every nocturnal disturbance was handled by the parent on call while the other went about their activities as planned. It seemed to me like eating at a restaurant at your own table beside a couple that you know. You nod and acknowledge each other, but you keep your appetizers and tabs separate and try not to listen too closely to their conversation. Their schedule was so regimented that I found myself often fantasizing about the mayhem that would ensue should a crisis occur during the changing of the guard. Would they just pass the baton in the middle of the X-ray series at the hospital? She was equally baffled at the way my household was managed. So I forced myself to take note of the duties that my husband and I share with total equality. I was shocked by how many things we do together!


Co-steal chargers

Co-wear shirts

Co-order Pad Thai

Co-fight over television

Co-sit in chairs

Co-have legs

Co-pump gas

Co-disturb sleep

Co-misplace keys

Co-create laundry

Co-lose kids’ shoes

Co-overdraw checking account

Co-sneeze weird

Co-hate running

Co-eat Nachos

Co-clog sinks

Co-steal stamps

And we co the shit out of not hearing each other.