When my DCs were very young, DW and I both worked part-time, and looked after the kids part-time.
When it was my turn I managed to look after them, do some cleaning, and have dinner on the table for DW when she got in. It seemed no me than common sense: after all, I was there. No one gave me a medal and I certainly never asked for one.
DW's turn? Nope: house generally a tip, daren't sit down (squashed banana), sticky patches, everyone grumpy: I knew I'd have a fun evening ahead of me: kids at their worst, dinner to cook, and a load of chores I'd have done during the day.
Then I went FT and lived in squalor for a few years. At least everyone got a good dinner as I made it myself when I got in.
I say this because, contrary to some remarks above, I, a worked working parent, knew perfectly well what my kids were like to look after, because I did it.
To this day DW will say how exhausting it was. And while I won't deny that she was exhausted, it grieves me even now she never even tried to get on top of things and took advice from no one, and basically made our lives far harder than they should have been.