My husband is a stay-at-home dad. I know, right? We’re so lucky. Lucky that he wants to do this (and I don’t). Lucky that we can make it work. Lucky that we don’t have to do the crazy getting-everyone-out-the-door routine every morning to get two adults to work and a 2 1/2 year old to daycare.

Instead, I get up in the morning and have some quiet time with the kid. He and his dad goof around in the bedroom while I have a shower and get ready for work. When it’s time to go, I get a hug from a small boy who’s playing happily at home in his pj’s (or naked, as is more often the case lately), ready for whatever fun activities his dad has in store for the two of them. It makes the mornings generally quite lovely.

But there’s a down side to this arrangement. In our family, a stay-at-home dad and a working mom means I get up with the kid on weekdays. Nine times out of 10, that’s earlier than I’d have to get up. Sometimes it’s 6 a.m. and, with a kid who doesn’t sleep well, 6 a.m. is really freaking early.

It means I go to work at a busy job and then come home and go right back into mom mode. I get an enthusiastic greeting at the door from a very excited, very jumpy dog and a toddler who’s heading into the time of day more often associated with meltdowns than magical moments. Some days I love this – the running, jumping, “Hi Mama!” show of love from both of them. Some days it’s overwhelming.

Yes, my husband makes dinner. And does dishes. But here’s the thing: I’m an introvert at heart. Pre-baby, we’d both come home and have a little bit of time to decompress before dinner. I don’t get that anymore. I get a tag-along while I get changed. A very sweet boy who wants me to dive right into playing on the floor with him, even if that’s the last thing I feel like doing right when I walk in the door.

As well, I like to putter. There’s something about tidying the kitchen that makes me feel sane. It seems silly to complain about an arrangement that means I have a husband who tidies the house at the end of the day, but some days I would really rather do that than play with Playdoh.

The SAHD arrangement also means I do bedtime during the week, which involves giving a bath to a kid who likes to splash water EVERYWHERE and trying to brush the teeth of a child who would rather smear me with toothpaste than sit still for a few minutes so I can clean his teeth. It involves trying to convince a headstrong two-year-old that it’s okay to get into his bed, okay to go to sleep, and okay to do all of this without his mother having to sit in the room for God knows how long. Either that, or plop him in there and listen to the screaming.

Yes, the stories and cuddles are awesome. Yes, seeing my active little boy looking like a baby again asleep in his bed is wonderful. But at the 14-hour mark, it takes a lot of patience I often don’t have.

You see, if my husband worked too, some of this would be easier. I wouldn’t have to do all of the kid stuff every night. I’d get to come home and putter sometimes. I’d be a little bit less mom and a little bit more me.

And that’s my secret mommyhood confession.