How Gen X Women Created the Stay-at-Home Dad (And Yes, That’s Me)

Oh, hey there. It’s me. A dad. A stay-at-home dad, if you will. A domesticated male of the species, found in his natural habitat—Costco, wondering if we already have peanut butter at home.

And before you ask, yes, I know what I have done. I know how I got here. I know that my mere existence in this role is the direct result of Generation X women shattering glass ceilings, kicking down boardroom doors, and, apparently, also eliminating my ability to have a full-time job outside the home.

I accept my fate. But also? It’s not that bad.

Oh, and in case you were wondering, I’m writing this at 12 AM because I can’t sleep and I love doom-scrolling about whether I live too close to an airport. Will my house be worthless in 20 years? Is my brain slowly being microwaved by low-flying planes? Who knows! But at least I have noise-canceling headphones and crippling anxiety to keep me company.

Also, right now, my wife lets me make fun of right-wing dummies online. Which, honestly, is the hobby I deserve at this point. Some guys get woodworking, some get fantasy football—I get clowning on conspiracy theorists and people who think 5G is turning frogs into communists.

The Rise of the Stay-at-Home Dad: How Did This Happen to Me?

Look, I didn’t plan for this. I was supposed to be some kind of provider—you know, like the ones in old TV shows where the dad works all day and then comes home to sit in a recliner while the kids totally respect him and his wife brings him a steak.

Instead, I’m out here cutting grapes into eighths, figuring out which Paw Patrol episode won’t set off a tantrum, and avoiding stepping on LEGOs like it’s an Olympic sport.

But here’s the thing—my wife and I always agreed that one of us should stay home with the kids. That was never in question. The only real debate was who that parent would be. And well, let’s just say that because I was in marketing and music, while my wife was financially brilliant, her career trajectory looked like an Olympic ski jump, and mine looked more like… a guy trying to get his sled unstuck from a snowbank.

And then, of course, there was 2008.

My Business Crashed and Burned in the Great Recession

Once upon a time, I owned a sign company. Yes, a real business, with clients, employees, and dreams of retirement that didn’t involve deciphering toddler tantrums.

Then 2008 happened, aka The Great Recession, aka “Surprise! Your business is now worth the same as an old Blockbuster membership card.”

One day, I was running a company. The next? Watching the economy treat my livelihood like a Blockbuster DVD that never got returned—totally worthless and subject to unrelenting late fees.

And just like that, I was professionally unemployable and mysteriously available for full-time child-wrangling duties.

The Math Mapped Me Into the Kitchen

After the business folded, I figured I’d bounce back. Maybe switch careers, start something new. But then we did the math.

Childcare is stupidly expensive, and with my wife’s income skyrocketing, we realized that if I got another job, most of my paycheck would go to paying someone else to do what I was fully capable of doing, badly, myself.

“Congratulations,” my wife said. “You’re now the primary caregiver.”

“Okay,” I said, “but only temporarily.”

That was fourteen years ago.

Our Current Chaos: Two Teens and a Toddler Who Breaks Stereotypes

Fast forward to today, and we now have two teenagers and a toddler. Yes, you read that right—a toddler. Because apparently, we enjoy variety and chaos in our parenting experience.

But here’s the twist—our toddler has special needs. And before you assume I’m about to throw around words like “disabled” or “limited,” let me stop you right there.

She is amazing. She is breaking stereotypes daily. She has taught me more about patience, resilience, and adaptive problem-solving than any business course ever could.

And honestly? She’s probably going to run the world one day, and I will happily be known as “her dad who used to think he was in charge of things.”

I Am Objectively Bad at This

Let’s be honest—I am not a good stay-at-home dad.

I’m no good at cleaning. I’ve lived in this house for years, and I still don’t understand where the cleaning supplies are kept.
I’m no good at cooking. I can microwave like a champion, but if I have to touch raw chicken, we’re ordering takeout.
I’m no good at even watching our toddler at times. She’s small, she’s fast, and I swear she’s actively trying to join Cirque du Soleil.

And yet, somehow, after fourteen years of this, I’m kind of getting better. Like a guy who’s been bowling his whole life but just now learned you can use those little arrows on the lane for aiming.

But Delegation? Oh, I Am King

If parenting was a corporation, I would not be CEO. I would be middle management—the guy who sits in a meeting, nods, and then assigns all the work to someone else.

My greatest achievement as a father is getting my kids to do things for me.

My teen daughter has made dinner for the last two nights, and it’s been incredible.
I have two teenagers who are about to start driving. I can’t even express the joy I feel knowing that soon, I will never have to do another emergency milk run.
Oh, the grocery runs I will send them on. The freedom. The power. I am playing the long game, and it is about to pay off.

**Did Gen X Women Mean to Do This?**

I don’t think so.

They just wanted careers and equal pay, which is reasonable.
They wanted partners who contributed, which is also reasonable.
They didn’t specifically set out to create a generation of dads in athleisure who know every character on Bluey, but here we are.

Final Thoughts: Am I Mad About It?

Not really.

Sure, my past self might be horrified to see me debating which brand of sippy cup leaks the least, but you know what? It’s fine.

I get to spend time with my kids.
I get to master the art of the Costco haul.
I get to pretend I’m the first man in history to properly use a stroller, even though moms have been doing it effortlessly forever.

And soon—oh, so soon—I will have teenagers with driver’s licenses.

So yes, Gen X women technically created the Stay-at-Home Dad. But at the end of the day, I think I turned out okay.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to reheat my coffee for the fourth time, doom-scroll about airport proximity, and make fun of right-wing dummies online, because my wife lets me and I have earned this.