Equality

A dear friend and I were talking the other night about equality and how it plays out in parenting, especially in the first six months to a year, when so many women choose to stay home--and often, then, either don't go back to work or feel unfulfilled when they do, perhaps because, in the intervening time, they missed a promotion or got otherwise left behind. (This talk started as yet another convo about that Anne-Marie Slaughter article, incidentally.) My friend, who is not a mom but is thinking about it, really doesn't get why so many women lose their careers when they have kids--and, on a related note, why more men don't stay home with their children instead. If society were truly equal, she said, wouldn't there be an alternative to the model of the mom staying home? Couldn't it be just as normal, just as incentivized, if you will, for dads to stay home and moms to go right back to work? Couldn't maternity leave and paternity leave be interchangeable, letting the parents decide who took what?

But moms have the goods, I said. The boobs.

But if, my friend asked, you formula-fed, couldn't you just go right back to work if you wanted to?

I've been thinking about this conversation since it happened. I think my friend's point was not that all women should formula-feed (or experience the pumping room) and get back in the saddle asap, but that women should have more choice about whether or not to work--that moms staying home should not be a given, the most obvious choice, the easiest choice. After all, she said, if society were equal, wouldn't there be another way to do things if you were a mom who just didn't want to stay home with your kid?

After thinking about this for a couple of days, I've come to these conclusions:

1. Yes.
2. But no.
3. But maybe yes.

Beyond the obvious issues with going right back to work (the bleeding, the healing, the resting after you've just run the marathon of your life, twice), I'm hung up on the tits, I must say. I'm a breastfeeding devotee. I stopped nursing my son at 15 months, but when we were in it, we were in it. Because I could breastfeed, and because L. loved it ("L," I'd ask, "Do you want to nurse?" "Hmm--hmm--hmm--hmm--hmmm!!" he'd reply), I sank right in. Breastfeeding was totally wonderful for me. I believe the many studies that show that kids who are breastfed are smarter, healthier, etc., and I think I can be this sanctimonious about this because...

I was not breastfed. And you all know I am a few sandwiches short of a picnic, plus overweight and unhealthy to boot.

(idiomcomics.com)

But seriously. Breastfeeding was my personal choice, and I was lucky, lucky, lucky to be able to do it for over a year while I stayed home with my son--sort of. At ten months I started working from home, part-time, and soon thereafter he started going to a nanny share three mornings a week, an arrangement that has morphed into our current scenario: he's in daycare three days, I'm home with him two. I think nursing L created an amazing bond between us. These days he is as partial to his dad as he is to me, but in the earlier days, nursing was this thing--this event, this experience, this verb--that stuck the two of us like glue. It was better than writing, even. It was lovely. Not the actual sucking, I mean, but the sweet symbiosis of being together in that way, that particular way that is so biologically humdrum and yet so completely unlike anything I had ever done before. I believe that, if it is at all possible, that every kid, and mother, should get to have that experience. I do.

But here's the bigger point.

I realized that when my friend and I were talking about equality, we were talking about paid work or work that has creative payoff--work that's public, intellectual, and monetarily valuable. Our whole basis for "equality" was about who "goes back to work." My issue with this notion is that in some sense it devalues Momming as work. I'm not blaming my friend for that--I'm saying that that's what we've been led to believe: that Momming is not work. Being in the office or the classroom or wherever else is the work.

When I say that it sounds like I'm making that classic and tired yet true statement that mothers aren't valued in society. Fine! We're undervalued. So are lots of other people. Let's move on. My point is more that--well, what if a woman should stay home with her kid, because no one else can really give the kid that foundation that's established by nursing? And what if that might be the most feminist, empowering choice in the world? What if nursing and nurturing were the work? What if that was just a given, and no one thought it made a woman "unequal?" I think that's what worries me: that when we talk too much about equality we end up sounding like it's the raw lot, the chump change, just more of your womanly troubles, to have to stay home and nurse your kid for a bit. Maybe it's just what you sign up for when you decide to become a mom, and there's nothing wrong with that.

Hmm.

Slippery slope.

Slippery slope because there are more and more different kinds of parents out there: adoptive parents, gay parents, parents who are parenting their partners' kids from previous marriages. Many, many babies come into this world in a very different scenario than mine did (you know, born on the Norwegian dole, for which I am forever thankful). And do I think those babies should be formula fed by their two dads? I do. Do I think those babies will be as loved, and as happy, and likely as healthy, if they're fed formula by their adoptive straight parents, both of whom have gone back to work? I do.

(sirlin.net)

I feel sort of refreshed when I meet a kid who is at the playground with his stay-at-home dad; at the same time, I feel wistful for the working mom heading to the pumping room at work (mostly because I wonder how exhausted she is). I feel sorry for some of the SAHMs I meet who seem so tired, so absolutely spent, so spiritually dead, so depressed. Amazed by the ones who are invigorated and joyful, who are clearly thriving with their three kids, one on the back, on one the playground, one off at school. Their skin is gorgeous, their family bed is über-comfy.

I know these moms and more.

And I know a few who, after their kids were born, found that their careers didn't make sense any more. They wanted to stay home, yes, but they also weren't sure what paid work would even look like anymore. Not because they missed the promotion, though maybe that was part of it; more because their mindsets had changed and what they were doing before seemed small and unfulfilling. I expect this is a tough spot to be in.

I'm lucky in a lot of ways--and I don't mean that to sound smug but rather, grateful, and since I can be quite negative, I want you to take note of this gratitude--but one of them is that I'm able, these days, to do my Momming alongside my writing and my teaching. I don't feel lost in parenting. Having a child has not changed the trajectory of what I want to do; it's slowed it down a little, diverted it, become a part of it, enriched it, complicated it, made it messier and more loveable and more meaningful, but not hijacked the whole thing of it. I still love my work. I still do my work. That hasn't changed.

I think maybe that's what my friend is afraid of: having her life hijacked. I can really understand that fear, because I had it too. I wish I could reassure her that if she does have a child, she'll figure it out.

Don't Do That in Public!

Lately I've been really aware of my public Mom persona. I think this is because L is at an extremely strong-willed age and I never know when I'll have to play Captain Bringdown in public. Ha! He'll be at an "extremely strong-willed age" for the rest of his life, I'd bet. I have a strong-willed kid. He's as likely to stop grabbing fruit from the health food store, declaring it a "sample" and cramming it in his mouth too quickly for me to stop him, as I am to win a contest for my math skills. Which is to say: not very likely. The health food store people see him coming and automatically hand me a kumquat and a couple strawberries. We all know we've lost the battle.

Yesterday we had our first swimming lesson, and there was a minor scene. I should have known when we got there and instead of sitting quietly on the edge of the pool like the other toddlers, L. asked me in a loud voice, "Did you bring any water toys, Mom?" that things might be eventful.

I did not bring water toys, I said. Shh!

We started off doing all the cute kid swimming activities, like blowing bubbles, jumping up and down in the water, and singing "The Wheels on the Bus" with new, pool-inspired hand motions. (That my friend Ben was teaching the class made this even more funny, because Ben is one of those friends from before we had a kid. In other words, he has seen me drunk as a skunk and wearing a ridiculous Halloween costume, which I later vomited on. Oh, the memories!)

But like turning off a switch, L. decided he was bored. He started straining against me, stretching his strong, muscular little 35-pound body in search of greener pastures. Imagine hard little feet in your abdomen, pushing.

"I want to go in that other pool, Mumma."

"L., we can't, we're in a class."

He strained some more.

"Let's go, Mumma!"

Finally I said, "Honey, we're in a class--when you're in a class, you have to listen to your teacher and do what they say. Let's listen to Ben!"

I swear L. shot me a look that read, you can't make me. (And that's when I had some foreshadowing of fifth grade parent-teacher conferences.)

Luckily, L. gained interest again and we made it through the class. At the end, Ben gave us a very stern and very scary talk about drowning.

"It happens quickly and silently," he said. "It's not like in Bay Watch."

So, armed with horrible images of Pamela Anderson, I kept L close to me as we left the pool and walked through a little fenced-off section with bleachers where our stuff was. I turned around to find L. trying to squeeze himself through the fence and back into the pool area. Success. Did I mention he's strong and wily like a snake?

"L!" I yelled. "Stop!" He was headed straight for the pool.

"L.!" I yelled again. "You stop RIGHT NOW!" and, catching up with him, I grabbed his arm. Roughly. And we had a very stern talking-to. That's when I noticed all those other parents, whose kids had been well-behaved in swimming class, staring. All those other parents, I should add, who had not stopped my beautiful son from squeezing himself through the gate back towards the pool even though they were in arms' reach.

I have something of an active imagination, but all evening I wondered what those parents thought of me. Most likely: smart mom, to treat the situation seriously (drowning is the silent, quick killer). Possibly: she's way too paranoid and strict; a yeller. Unlikely, but you never know: abusive.

Clearly, I have to develop a thicker skin, because there is a solid chance that in the next, oh, 24 hours, my son is going to behave in public in a way that requires me to reveal something about my parenting.

It makes one feel a little vulnerable.

But there are redeeming moments. Last weekend, we were at the same health food store with the fruit. L. discovered the bulk bins and was happily imagining me filling a bag with jelly beans for him. I kept asking him, reminding him, not to put his fingers in the bins. But lo and behold, I stooped to put some rice in a bag and damned if L. wasn't wrist-deep in the currants when I came back up. Three people's spying eyes on us.

I pulled him aside.

"L.," I said, "I need you to look in my eyes so I know you're hearing me." (Eyes scooted left, then right, up to the ceiling, down the floor...eventually they landed on me briefly before darting off on another errand.)

"I need you to do better listening. I asked you not to put your hands in the bins."

"But why?"

"Because people don't want little kids' fingers in their raisins. I am happy to buy you a little treat, but I need you to promise me you're done putting your hands in the bins. Look me in the eyes and promise. If you put your hands in the bins again, I'm not giving you the treat."

Eyes darted everywhere. Finally he promised. We chose some dates and I let him carry them.

Five minutes later I was browsing in the sunscreen aisle by myself. L. was with my husband. A woman came up to me.

"I just need to tell you," she said, "that you're such a good mom. I saw you in the bulk section with your son, and I was so impressed. Really. Kudos to you."

Talk about making my day. Talk about making my week. Having a stranger witness my disciplinary strategy--the one I made up, with no help from any books, and thus don't know if it might scar my kid for life--and pronounce me a good mom afterwards? Beautiful.

Thank you, stranger, for filling me with hope that I am doing something right.

And here, folks, is my newest favorite picture of the little devil:

--Susie

Having It All

Like a lot of people—at least according to Facebook, various blogs, and about fifty percent of the conversations I've had in the last month both on and off the playground—I recently read Anne-Marie Slaughter's article in The Atlantic called "Why Women Still Can't Have It All."

(If you haven't yet read the article, I suggest you do that right now. We'll wait.)

Welcome back!

Slaughter argues that despite her generation having told my generation all these years that the feminist dream is alive—i.e., that a woman can work in a high-powered job AND nurture a family—that maybe, just maybe, this isn't actually true. Slaughter describes life for the women in the very top sector of the working world, which is to say, women in government positions, female CEOs (turns out there are about three), and the like, many of whom have begun to admit to the immense difficulty of having careers that required that much responsibility and time-commitment while also raising happy, healthy kids. Slaughter outlines some of the myths about why women "can't have it all"; namely that we're not working hard enough, being ambitious enough, marrying the right people (i.e., men who will put their own careers on hold for ours), or doing things in the right order (having kids early, and first, then focusing on careers).

She's right, and brave, to call out these myths, and I applaud her for it, and while I'm not in that sector of the working world, and I know very few women who are, most of the women I know who have read this article recently took away an important message. And that message is that, guess what? We moms feel really torn about our home lives and our work lives and how to make both what we want them to be.

I praise Slaughter for starting this conversation and outlining these myths, the most prevalent of which is that women just aren't dreaming big enough or trying hard enough to get ahead—a myth, she says, mostly perpetrated by women in her generation. Let's throw each other under the bus, shall we, ladies?

Her solutions to the problem of balance, though, are a little less inspiring to me. As it turned out, I read this article while lying on my bed in the middle of the afternoon (3:30, to be exact). L. was at daycare, and I'd gotten up at seven with him, made breakfast, gotten everybody dressed (actually B. can dress himself these days) and out the door. I wrote for an hour or two, worked on my online classes for three hours or so, did some bill-paying, puttering, and career development, cleaned the kitchen, and then got hit with a wave of exhaustion and the realization that my day was far from over: there was pick-up, afternoon playtime, and dinnertime-bathtime-bedtime all to go. So I rested with a magazine. And my prevailing feeling after reading Slaughter's article was not empowerment (I'm understood!) but exhaustion. And then guilt for being tired. While she suggests that work rules should change, so that women can work less time in the office, for example, she never advocates less work or taking time for ourselves or praising ourselves for even trying to have a career and a kid. The picture I came away with was that if you really want to be a successful careerwoman and have healthy, happy kids, you leave work at six, come home for family dinner, then sit down again at your laptop from 8:00 to midnight. Then you're up between 4:30 and 5:30 to check email or make the house come together before bolting out the door for another fourteen-hour day.

To say this life is my idea of a personal hell would be an understatement. I also don't believe it makes anybody healthy or happy. To be totally honest, with three classes, a book to finish, and a toddler to rear, I am just about at the edge of what I can handle. How on earth do these superwomen survive? I was flooded with questions: but when do you have sex with your husband? When do you sit down with a glass of wine and watch crap TV? Maybe Hilary Clinton, Karen Hughes, and Facebook CEO Sheryl Sandberg--all women mentioned in the article--don't have time for sex, TV, wine, or, my personal favorite, sleep. They just work harder.

Is that really the solution?

As I like to talk about the year I spent in Norway, I'll do that now. Say what you will about Norway's social safety net, it prioritizes families. Women take a year off with each child and don't lose their place in line for tenure, for a promotion, or for partnership at the law firm. At one, most kids go to "Barnehage" (which translates to "Kindergarten," which translates to "Kids' Garden"), and there's no stigma about evil daycare or high-powered callous career mothers. I think women feel much less of that pull that so many of us feel here: should I stay home? Should I go back to work now, or in a year, or in five years, or never? I happen to know well a woman who works in a very high-powered position in the Norwegian government. She just had her second kid, is taking her prescribed year off, and then will go right back to her job—a job that gives her enough time off to spend with her kids and partner.

Is that such a crazy model?

We just love to work here in the States, and while I prize productivity and hard work, it's not lost on me that we have an unemployment problem and a number of people working eighty- to one hundred-hour weeks. If some people did less work, not more, wouldn't there be more jobs to go around?

Slaughter doesn't suggest that we institute maternity leave or reevaluate our crazy American work ethic across the board. The onus for change is put squarely on women themselves: she calls on other high-powered female careerists to change the workplace culture to include space for family dinners, for one thing. Asking women to do this for other women is not necessarily a bad thing, for now. Women should be role models for other women, and someone like Slaughter—brilliant, accomplished, poised—encouraging other women to help their employees find balance carries a lot of weight. But I'm not sure it's enough.

Interestingly, she does speak to the role of men in child-rearing, and the ways that role is changing. After reading the article, I felt a little frantic, a little old, a little underachieving, and I said to B:

"You need to get a really high-powered job now, while you're young!" (My logic? I clearly can't handle it.)

His response?

"But I want to spend time with L. too."





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