Elizabeth Joyce: Independent woman, but I can still care for my chap

Oh, about that whole baby thing, you'll be pleased to know I got called spiteful, sad, desperate and disgusting as a result. There were a few other choice words too, but this is a family newspaper.

One outraged mother even emailed me to remind of the fact that "children are our future".

I wouldn't have minded, but I couldn't get that ruddy song out of my head for the rest of the day. I should've replied that I wish nothing more than to teach them well and let them lead the way.

• Visits to the office with baby won't work for me

Anyway, the fact of the matter clearly remains: I am a traitor to women everywhere.

And my latest doublecross is thus: I quite like cooking, cleaning and generally looking after my other half.

I like cooking his tea, I like doing his washing, I like making sure he has a clean house to come home to.

Shocking, I know. We're not supposed to say things like this are we?

Some of my friends think this attitude is ridiculous – borderline offensive.

"What?! You do his washing?! Why? Let him do it himself, it's the 21st century."

"You spent how long make that boeuf bourguignon for his tea?!"

They give me disapproving looks and make snorts of derision.

Well, I'm sick and tired of it.

I don't think caring for another person makes me any less of an independent woman.

The shoes on my feet, I bought them.

The house I live in, I bought it.

The car I'm driving, I, umm, well, it's a company car but you get the drift.

Beyoncé would be proud.

Basically, I'm more than capable of looking after myself – I just like looking after him too.

If he was a git, he'd get nothing. In fact, scratch that, if he was a git, I wouldn't even be with him. I'd be blissfully living a single life comprising round-the-clock onesie-wearing and marathons of Don't Tell The Bride.

But I thought being in a relationship means looking out for one another and if that means ironing the odd shirt to make his life a bit easier, I'll do it. With military precision and scented ironing water.

He's got a tougher time of it than me work-wise. He has days filled with meetings and big decisions and sometimes he has to do actual maths. Sweet Jesus of Nazareth.

He goes to work earlier and comes home later so surely the decent thing is to help the bloke out wherever possible? If things were the other way around, things would be the other way around. Simple as that.

So, no, I'm not some pushover, some victim, some kept little woman living in the dark ages – far from it, there's too much Black Country bolshiness in me to ever let that happen – I just don't see what's wrong with looking after your nearest and dearest.

If caring for another person somehow makes me weak and means I'm letting the side down then so be it. That's a team I don't want to be a part of anyway.