In replying to some comments on my last post, There are no solutions in the status quo, I was thinking that while heady and intellectual is good sometimes, so too are concrete examples. So here is what I would want changed to be supported by society, and what things did go/are going well:
- When the Boychick was born, I wanted more time with The Man at home. It was my most fervent wish, often bawled into the sweet-smelling head of my sleeping child. He had three paid weeks — scrimped and scraped together by working whenever possible, skipping sick days, never taking vacation, since even before conception — which in the USA is so much more than most non-birthing (and too many birthing) parents get, but was nevertheless so, so inadequate. He went back to work when I was still bleeding. I wanted him to have the first six months off, paid. Three, minimum. (I honestly think we’d have gotten bored if he’d had the first two years off, but I’d've happily had him take one, and work part time for another, if we could have afforded it.)
- We had a meal train for the first three weeks also, with a new hot or oven-ready meal brought every couple days, with plenty of leftovers in between. (I am blessed to be part of a loose group of women who Feed Each Other, especially after a birth. It’s a beautiful thing.) About 18 hours after his birth, a friend brought us the groceries we hadn’t had a chance to buy, drinks from Starbucks, lunch from our favorite burrito place, and flowers. I will never forget that. I would wish that for every new family.
- After The Man went back to work, I was isolated. We lived where there was pretty limited public transit, and no public transport between where we lived and where The Man worked (and the Boychick hated the car anyway, so it didn’t matter that we never had access to one). I had no neighbourhood friends. What could have helped: living closer to where The Man worked (there was nowhere we could afford to rent closer in that would take our pets), having friends come over, having community centers (and friends) within walking distance, having better public transit — and knowing that that public transit was safe for me, that I wouldn’t be hassled for wearing him, or for him fussing, or if I needed to potty him (in our sealable bowl) or change him, or for nursing him, or simply for daring to exist as a fat woman with a baby in public.
- I struggled with what was probably postpartum depression — unrecognized, because it was not as bad as the instability I had gotten out of shortly before conceiving. What helps my mood is mostly not covered by medical insurance, which I didn’t have anyway. We weren’t able to pay for thyroid checks for me nearly as often as recommended in pregnancy and postpartum, when thyroid needs fluctuate so much (insufficient thyroid can contribute to depression as well). I needed health insurance (we weren’t married so I couldn’t get it through The Man’s job, but he had a job, so the state wouldn’t cover me), I needed the midwife to be paid for so we weren’t scrapping together funds to pay her already-reduced fee, I needed my fish oil to be subsidized or covered by insurance (or to have more money to pay for it), so I didn’t feel compelled to cut my dose, and teeter even closer to the line. That almost did me in.
- I was blessed to have a community, and a volunteer job, online during pregnancy and the Boychick’s first couple years (from which I have since retired, to focus on the blog and massage school — I still miss it, but it was time). That gave me intellectual outlet, social contact, and the knowledge that even when I was stuck at home, spit up everywhere (in my hair! I’ll never forget that either, try though I do), I was making a difference, and people relied on me. That saved me.
- When the Boychick was a year and a half old, I was also lucky to be able to start school in the evenings. I was privileged to be able to procure a loan to pay for it (though at a rate that will mean my $10,000 education will eventually cost us $20,000), one which we didn’t have to start paying back right away. (A loan which is no longer offered, by the way. Under the current financing options, I wouldn’t have been able to start school at all, or at least not right then, and I had gotten to where I needed something more to do, more even than the online gig.)
- Now, I want childcare swaps, and daycare options that I can trust to not indoctrinate my child in sexism and racism and classism and other aspects of kyriarchy. I want outdoor, mixed age open ed that is affordable enough it isn’t entirely populated by privileged white crunchy Portlanders. I want my friends to live closer, and I want to be friends with my neighbours. I want there to be enough people who believe in attached, gentle parenting (even if we’re not always so hot at it, even if they make superficially different choices) that I can find friends closer.
- And I still want to know that if I venture out in public with my perfectly normal (aka rambunctious, sometimes loud, sometimes tantrumy, usually gregarious) almost-three year old, I will be welcome, not shunned, supported, not glared at.
These are the things I mean when I say we need to change society. Maternity leave (I didn’t and likely won’t ever have a full time employed-type job) and funding for institutional daycare aren’t even on my list. “SAHM” or “WOHM” don’t even figure — I am neither. Some of these things would cost money — like paternity leave, like affordable alternative schooling options, like more community centers — and some of them would cost nothing, or a little time, or just a smile from a stranger. Some of them negate the need for some of the others. Some of them I could make happen in my own life, if I were lucky enough, and able to put in the effort. Some of them I have been able to access, due to the various aspects of privilege I exist with. Some of them would require radical shifts in social memes, some radical shifts in federal or local government policy. But they’re all possible. They should all be available to everyone. And they’re just a small fraction of the changes needed, from someone who already stands toward the top of the privilege pyramid.
I know not everyone finds these sorts of mental exercises helpful, or even bearable, and if you’re one, I don’t ask you to do anything you don’t want.
But for those of us who care to, I want you to take moment to think big (and little, and radical, and mundane): what would have helped you in the first months and first years of parenting? What would you have liked to have had? What was right about your situation, and what would have to change for everyone to have what you did? If parenting, or the addition of another child, is potentially in your future, what would your ideal situation be? How would you like society to support you? And, perhaps, what can you do to help the family next door, or down the street?
Think big. Think little. Think sideways. Think outside of the box; stand on it and rant, or kick the box apart and make peace signs out of the scraps, or burn it for firewood. Do you want one of the traditional options? Great! Share that. Do you love exactly what you have? Fabulous! Share that, and spend a moment thinking about whether others who want it could have it too, and if not what barriers are in their way. Are you too busy trying to take care of food and shelter to think of cushy perks like time at home and babies in work? Please, share what would make your life easier and safer (but feel welcome to idealize, too).
What could help you? Name one thing: name as many as you can think of.
Before we can make the revolution, we need to know what we’re working for. So share your dreams. Learn from others’. Change the conversation. Change the world.
