EVERY morning I walk my eldest son to primary school.

I have to wake up at 7am, which is a trauma, but by that time my wife already has the kid washed, clothed and fed. She wakes up at 6.15am.

I stumble out of the bedroom feeling like someone's hit me in the head with a shovel, and the boy's already sitting there in the living room watching cartoons, bright as a button.

The wife? She's on to the next kid.

I wrote a column a couple weeks ago in which I complained about how tired I am, about how hard it is to work long hours and also find time to spend with the family.

I'm rather ashamed, now, of what I wrote.

I'm 189cm tall. I weigh 95kg. I have a blunt face. I look like the sort of guy who should be able to handle things.

My wife is 154cm tall. She weighs 40kg. She's pretty as a pixie. She looks as if she should be curled up in a flower somewhere, sipping dewdrops.

Unlike me, my wife has a real job. She works for a biotech company.

She doesn't get to sit around all day watching movies (like I do as a movie critic) – she has to get stuff done.

She also spends a lot more time taking care of the kids than I do.

She's the one who has to pick them up after work. She's the one who feeds them dinner. She's the one who puts them to bed.

She washes their clothes, she helps them with their homework, she sits with them at the piano.

This woman, who is quite literally half my size, is more man than I.

And she's not the only one.

Most of the writers and editors I work with on a day-to-day basis are women, and many of them have children of their own.

Unlike me, they don't complain.

I had a serious discussion the other day with one of my co-workers, during which I was going on and on about my workload, lamenting the fact that I never get to see my kids.

In shock

To my utter shock and self-loathing, this girl, who is unfailingly prim, positive and professional, broke down and cried.

What about HER? What about HER kids?

This co-worker, who shall remain nameless, of course, not only does more work than I do, she also bears the added burden of being a mum.

Men can often use work as an excuse to slack off on household chores.

Women can't, or simply don't.

We hard-working fathers of Singapore may not get to see our children as much as we'd like, but for the hard-working mothers of Singapore, there is no rest.

My bellyaching was an embarrassment.

In my defence all I can say is, well, I'm a member of the weaker sex.