Soon after my twins were born, I received an official notice in the mail. I had to open it and respond immediately or the city would come get me.

I had been summoned to jury duty. With a grandmother available to watch the kids all day, I headed downtown to serve. When I checked in, I updated my married moniker. The man at the dusty computer asked my occupation.

"I stay home with my kids, but I am a freelance writer," I made sure to tell him.

He scrolled through the employment options until he settled on "HMMK" -- homemaker.

Laura Lewis Brown is the mother of infant twins. Her column appears every other Thursday.

Not I! My house is usually a cluttered zone of random objects that never quite find a resting place. I clean well for company but always manage to keep a room suitable for leaving the things with no home and shutting the door.

But what am I now if not a housewife? My husband agrees with that label as I launch eye darts at his oversized head.

"It's your job to take care of the house," he has yelled in a moment of frustration, fatigue and temporary idiocy.

Tired people say nasty things. There are two tired people in my house, and we are having our share of unpleasant moments.

My children's pediatrician told me that as soon as a child is born, the mother tends to become all about babies, leaving dad in the faint background.

"You'll get your wife back in a year," he joked to my husband.

Meanwhile, Dad goes into ultimate provider mode, stressing about taking care of his family, feeding more mouths with fewer dollars.

I figured a modern couple like Jack and I could resist falling into overly traditional roles. He isn't just the provider, and I'm not just the stay-at-home mom.

And yet, I guess I am truly a homemaker, even if I'm a bad one.

He goes off to work each day while I stay home with the kids. In the early morning hours before the kids wake up I squeeze in some freelance work. When I get help from the grandmothers, I do more writing, but it's often between running errands to keep this house running.

We need diapers, wipes, formula, baby food and clothes for their rapidly growing bodies, not to mention all the other household stuff we have always needed. What would my husband do without his loofa and Listerine!

Just when I feel like I'm getting nothing done but playing zone defense against two babies, my husband gives me a hard time about the house and how I have it so easy. He has no clean clothes to wear, and why do I have to go out to lunch again today?

The clean clothes are folded in laundry baskets in the basement. It would be easier for him if they found their way to their respective drawers, but it's not going to happen most days. And lunch? Well, sometimes a stay-at-home mom needs a cheap diversion from her stay-at-home day.

But Jack is stressed out. His job is pretty much the same as in the past, except there have been layoffs , which changes a workplace atmosphere tremendously. No matter what he's dealing with during the day, all I think when he walks through the door is, "Yes! Another set of hands."

He helps a ton with the babies when he's here. But sometimes it feels like everything baby falls on me. As much as I enjoy being the center of my children's universe, I also ache for more than nap breaks.

So who has the sweeter deal? Me, according to him. He does in my book.

I don't have to rush to a traditional office every day -- but my job never ends. If a teething baby wakes up at 2 a.m., so do I. My recent cold didn't grant me a paid sick day.

My husband gets to leave the house no matter who is crying that morning, including his frazzled wife. Sure, he works all day, but his lunch break isn't at the mercy of a three-hour feeding routine. He can even walk into a restaurant without having to set up a double stroller and lug a diaper bag.

So the battle over who has it worse begins. And there is never a winner, because the only people who should be winning in this situation are the babies. And they will certainly benefit from happier parents, not angry ones who fight for unattainable fairness.

So it's time for both sides to suck it up and realize we're both lucky. We have two babies who are healthy and extremely happy. It's hard work for both of us, and that's the way it's going to be for many years.

I can do a better job of taking care of this house and ease up on my complaints. He can keep in mind how long my days are before he moans about the state of disarray or lack of cooked meal.

Maybe we could even go back to the days where we had fun together, enjoying each other's company and laughing more than whining. We don't need a clean house or a fat paycheck for that.