There's a good chance that the particular subgenre that Tadaima, Okaeri belongs to has scared a lot of viewers away. The series, based on the manga of the same name by Ichi Ichikawa, is what's known as "omegaverse," a subgenre people have definite opinions about. Based on the disproven alpha wolf theory (which posited that wolf packs had a designated leader, or alpha; the study was flawed because it looked at wolves in captivity, although that's the short-short version), the easiest way to think of it is as a way for slash fiction writers to allow their preferred ships to have biological children. According to original omegaverse lore, male omegas can get pregnant and bear children; things have since expanded so that there are now heterosexual omegaverse stories as well. (And, of course, mainstream werewolf fiction that still uses the debunked alpha wolf theory, such as Patricia Briggs' Alpha and Omega paranormal romance series.) The long and short of it is that omegaverse stories can make people uncomfortable for a variety of reasons, not the least of which being that, like any other romance subgenre, it can incorporate nonconsensual elements based on the "he can't control himself!" trope.

So I can't blame anyone who saw "omegaverse" and decided that the show was not for them. It's not a subgenre I gravitate towards, but part of the joy of reviewing media is the discovery of a series that defies your expectations. Tadaima, Okaeri may be omegaverse, but that doesn't mean that it isn't also one of the sweetest slice-of-life family stories I've seen in recent years. It also plays with the omegaverse formula in ways that we don't typically see. Yes, people are identified by gender, sexuality, and type, meaning that they're divided into alpha, beta, and omega, as is the genre norm. But whereas most stories in the genre take the stance that alphas and omegas are an inevitable pairing (if not a desired one, given omegas' fertility), this one uses the three categories as a stand-in for the sort of discrimination that we see in our world. Masaki and Hiromu are discriminated against, or at least looked at askance, because they're a mixed couple: Masaki is an omega while Hiromu is an alpha. Their relationship and subsequent marriage led to Hiromu being disowned before the story opens, and people are openly shocked and/or uncomfortable when they discover that he's married to an omega. Masaki, meanwhile, was treated like he was incredibly fragile by his beta parents, who were shocked to have a child of a different type. He was raised with a sense of fear about himself and how the world would treat him, leading him to feel unworthy.

This theme of discrimination quietly snakes through the series. We see it in both husbands' families – Masaki's is more subtly upset by his marriage, since they had basically picked out a different, "safer," spouse for him – but most solidly in a late-series storyline about Hikari befriending another little boy. Hikari and Michiru meet at a park and become fast friends when Hikari thinks Michiru's cowlick looks like a tomato stem (this show gets the weirdness of little kids very right), and Masaki also becomes friendly with the little boy's father. They've recently moved to the area following the death of his wife, and Mr. Mochizuki is relieved to meet another omega. He knows that Masaki is married, but he assumes that Hiromu is also an omega, because that's how things are "supposed" to work, and his late wife was an omega as well. When he discovers that Hiromu is an alpha and that Hikari is as well, he panics and attempts to cut off all communication, which of course means separating two toddlers who don't understand why they aren't allowed to be friends any more.

If you've ever experienced this sort of discrimination, the whole thing is horribly familiar. Hikari has been raised by two adoring parents, has won over his prickly grandfather, and his sunny personality has allowed him to make friends wherever he goes. Michiru is the best friend he made for himself, a person he loves, and even if he did understand the whole alpha/omega distinction, his parents are proof that it doesn't matter. Michiru, on the other hand, shows more familiarity with his father's fear, showing what Masaki likely went through as a child; even at age two or three, he understands that he's somehow different and must be protected. It isn't until he sees Hikari break down in tears that he starts to rebel, asserting himself for what appears to be the first time. He's learning that things can, and should, change, and that more than anything helps to drive home the series' message that fear has to take a back seat to love.

This may make the series sound heavy, which isn't the case; although it has some heavy themes, at its heart, this is a warm story about a family doing their day-to-day thing. Hikari and later his little sister Hinata are major draws, and the series hits a lot of the same notes as School Babysitters in the way it depicts them. Hikari is a bundle of energy, generally cheery but also recognizably a toddler; he has tantrums, gets scared, and definitely has an overinflated sense of his own ability. In one episode, we discover him writing letters (more or less) to someone he calls his best friend, then setting off with Masaki and Hinata to deliver them; in the next scene we see him clinging to Masaki's legs crying in fear because the "best friend" is the golden retriever down the street whom he loves, but is utterly terrified of at the same time. Hinata, meanwhile, has all the cheerful chaos of the newly mobile, bulldozing her way around and occasionally getting stuck under things. They're cute, but not too cute, and if they're still idealized depictions of small children, the story still gets enough right that watching them is a delight.

The major downside is that the production values aren't spectacular. Animation is often limited, and the pastel color palette can look very washed out. It's very nice that the kids are typically dressed in gender-neutral clothing, but all of the floating pastel geometry feels like an attempt to distract from awkward bodies and choppy animation. Fortunately the vocal cast can make up for these issues, particularly Hikari and Masaki's voice actors, but this is not one of those shows you watch for the stellar artwork and animation – or even the frog imagery, which is prevalent. ("Okaeri" shares a syllable for the Japanese word for "frog," which is why we see so many of them.)

Despite the visual issues, Tadaima, Okaeri is a warm hug of a show. It is omegaverse, but that's not its chief appeal; Masaki could just as easily have been trans and the story would have remained basically the same. At its heart, this is a show about a family, one that loves each other, shows it with casual physical affection, and is just living their life together. There's something wonderful about that, and if that sounds appealing, I urge you to put the genre and production values aside and give this a chance.