The Seven Husbands of Taylor Swift

37

TAYLOR SWIFT
Summer of 2026. The Eras tour had come to an end, and I was in ready for some much-needed rest. I decided to take a couple years off. Travis was in his offseason, and for the first time in months, we had time to be a family, just the three of us. London was four years old and going through a major phase. It felt like every day he had at least five meltdowns, and each one wore me down a little more. The smallest things would set him off—choosing the wrong color cup, wanting to wear his favorite pajamas that were in the wash, or refusing to get in the car because the seat felt "too cold."

And no matter what I did, I couldn't seem to get a handle on it.

Then there was Travis. As much as I loved him—and I did—I couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy. It seemed like he could do no wrong with London. Anytime there was a tantrum, Travis would swoop in with his calm, steady presence, say a few words, and just like that, London would be giggling in his arms, happy as ever. It was a relief, of course—there's nothing worse than seeing your kid upset—but it also made me feel... inadequate.

One afternoon, after a particularly exhausting morning of dealing with London's outbursts, I was in the kitchen making lunch. London had refused to eat anything but peanut butter toast, and even that was cause for a meltdown because the bread was cut into rectangles instead of triangles. Travis came in, saw the scene, and within minutes, London was happily munching away, sitting on his lap, and babbling about dinosaurs.

I watched them from across the room, trying to keep a smile on my face, but inside, I was boiling. It wasn't fair. I was his mom. I was the one who was supposed to be able to calm him down, not Travis.

Later that night, when London was finally asleep, I let it all spill out.

"You're his favorite," I blurted as I slumped down on the couch, crossing my arms. My voice came out sharper than I intended.

Travis, who was in the middle of cleaning up, stopped and turned toward me, confused. "What?"

I shook my head, feeling the frustration bubble to the surface. "He always stops crying for you. It's like... I don't know how to handle him anymore. I try everything, and it's like nothing I do is good enough. Then you come in, and suddenly everything's fine."

Travis walked over and sat down beside me, his brow furrowed. "You think you're not good enough?"

"I don't know... it just feels like I can't mother my own child," I admitted, my voice trembling.

He paused, letting my words sink in, then gently took my hand. "Babe, you're an amazing mom. You're the one who's with him day in and day out. You handle all the hard stuff—bedtime, meals, boo-boos, all of it. I just step in for a few moments."

"Yeah, and in those moments, you make everything better," I said, blinking back the tears that had started to well up.

"I make things easier, maybe. But you're the one who makes things better for him. You're his mom, Taylor. He loves you more than anything," Travis said, his voice soft but steady.

I let out a shaky breath, finally meeting his eyes. "It doesn't feel like it sometimes. It feels like I'm failing."

Travis scooted closer, wrapping his arm around me. "You're not failing. You're doing your best. And trust me, London knows that. Kids are tough at this age. They're figuring out the world, and yeah, they're gonna have meltdowns. But you're his constant. He knows you're there for him no matter what."

I leaned into him, resting my head on his shoulder. "I just want to be a good mom."

"You are," he whispered. "And when it's tough, I'm here. We're a team, remember?"