When I was a little girl I dreamt of the days when I would wear a power suit, carry a briefcase, and jet set to faraway lands to negotiate the crap out my latest deal. No, I didn’t want to be a lawyer. There was always something about the world of marketing that had a pull on me. I wanted to run the marketing department, sit on the board of some high powered company, easily make high six figures, then come home to my ritzy New York City high rise and call it a night. There weren’t dreams of little minis running around terrorizing me. Sometimes I didn’t really even see a husband in all of that. It was about me. Me and work. There was definitely never a thought to childcare.
I went to college, met my husband, traveled, married, traveled, came back to The States and got a big girl job. One month into my first real job we found out I was pregnant. It wasn’t like it was unexpected. It was just the first time I realized my life was nothing like my little girl dreams.
There was no question that I would return to work six weeks after maternity leave. I struggled to find childcare that I was comfortable with. Mostly because I would be paying so much to get my daughter into care while I worked. At the time, my husband was working in a role that was a mere stepping stone into what he really wanted to do. We took a huge risk while he made very little money in order to eventually get to where he is now. This meant that well over half of his paycheck would go towards childcare. The remainder, plus my salary, would have to make it work beyond that. It was possible, but that number to get her into a safe, clean, “normal” place was shocking. Luckily, I found an old friend from high school and she took my daughter full-time, in her home.
Until eight months later when I was laid off. This meant that the three of us would living off of my husband’s paycheck until I could find something else. The kicker? One month prior to me being laid off, we found out that I was pregnant again.
For the first few months of unemployment I spent countless hours looking for another job. I used childcare only when I had interviews. We were lucky that our sitter was so flexible. We budgeted and I did some things on the side for family and friends and made it work. Eventually I started showing and it became apparent that getting hired elsewhere was going to be tough. Again, a far cry from the power suits and six figures. I started going over the numbers of putting both kids into childcare once the new baby was born and quickly realized that the kind of money I needed to make was increasingly harder to come by the more pregnant I became. Everyone knew I would be needing a minimum of six weeks off, almost immediately. No one was biting.
I spent more time than I can count talking with my parents about the idea of putting two kids into a structured daycare. My sitter had taken on more kids and I couldn’t imagine giving her a newborn. We needed another option if I were to go back to work. The numbers were too much to grasp. It would be the entirety of my husband’s paycheck, and then some. My new job would have to pay more than my last and who would offer me that kind of money in the state I was in?
That’s when my dad told me it was just something I had to do. It’s what he and my mom did. They didn’t make that much money when they had my brother and me, yet they still worked and figured it out. If I was going to go to work, I needed to just suck it up and pay.
This is also when I fully realized that my little girl dreams were not me anymore. I had a working mom who kept going my whole childhood. I had a dad who sometimes drove hours away every day to work. They gave me this idea of a two income family. A hardworking, get up every morning, slave all day, get home when it’s dark out kind of childhood. And that was okay. But, it wasn’t what I wanted to do. Not anymore.
I didn’t want to spend so much of my time doing something that I didn’t love. I didn’t want to spend so much of my money letting other people watch my kids learn how to roll over, or walk, or say their first words. To me, being out there in “the real world” just to continue gaining the experience, isn’t enough to miss any of that. The money paid out is too much and the time is too short. My dad doesn’t agree with me about childcare. All he knew how to do was to work and support the family financially. He had a different life than I do. That’s okay, I understand. Unfortunately, he doesn’t understand where I’m coming from.
I ended up going back to work after my second was born. I started a new job the day he turned seven weeks old. I made enough money to pay for a friend to come to my house and watch both kids. One month before the baby was born my husband scored his promotion and dream job (hooray!). We were doing alright. Six months later I quit.
I am lucky that my husband makes enough money for me to just up and quit. I am lucky that I have a husband who supports me wanting to spend as much quality time with my growing children as possible. He knows that one day, sooner than later, I will be able to get back out into the workforce as a full-time power suit kind of woman, if that’s what I really want to do. Right now I can’t imagine paying a huge portion of my paycheck for childcare, not spending these moments with my kids, and not being able to pick up and go, do whatever I want with my husband when he’s able.
My dad still doesn’t understand my issue with childcare. I’m really not sure he ever will. Despite my efforts to continue contributing financially (I teach yoga, do personal training, freelance write, watch other kids) my dad still tells people I don’t work, and we still argue over the cost of childcare versus the cost of living the way you want to.
I can’t blame him. If my daughter wants to kick ass in business for 18 years and then turns around one day to be a tree hugging hippie who only eats organic and plays pretend with her kids all day, I might be a little thrown off too. For now, as long as it’s working for us, let’s just disagree to agree.
