By Amy Joyce
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Today is Mother's Day, but my big day isn't until June 19. If all goes well, I'll hold our firstborn, a baby boy, in my arms around then. Meanwhile, my career will go on hold for six months and possibly change forever -- depending on how I handle The Return.
Which, of course, is the question that looms for every working woman who stands on the threshold between the cubicle and the crib. To stay at home or return to the job? To return to the old job or consider a new one? And how, while pondering the pros and cons of a pacifier-free home, not to spend more time brooding that the old job might be filled by a baby-free hotshot?
This step into parenthood (which I share with my husband, an editor at The Washington Post) is something I've expected for most of my life. I've always known that I wanted children, but I've also always known that I wanted to work. I'm looking forward to a generous leave, yet I'm worried about what I'll do when I come back.
Because I will come back to work. Definitely.
Um, right?
I've spent the past five-plus years writing the "Life at Work" column in the Business section of The Post. Every Tuesday, I host a Web chat about people's lives on the job. Many of the questions I receive go something like this: I'm pregnant, and that's all anyone at work wants to talk to me about. I fear I've just become the "pregnant lady." How do I make the conversation about the job instead? How do I ask my employer about a flexible schedule without looking like I don't care about work? If I take a part-time position, will I still be considered a contender? The salary my nonprofit pays me is less than my nanny's salary; does that mean it's time to give up and stay at home?
Pah. These simple questions. I know enough about equal-employment laws to say what employers can and cannot do. After that, it's all common sense: Steer the subject away from babies. Make them remember why you get a paycheck. A flexible schedule doesn't necessarily mean you'll work less. Part-time work is still a career. If work is important to you, figure out how to do what you want. Easy.
But now I suddenly want to know: Where's my career-advice columnist?
So many people tell me things will change after the baby is born. And I know I don't really get it yet. I don't get what they're feeling when they describe an intense nostalgia as they give me the Gymini play mat their child has outgrown. I can't fathom the tug they say almost made them quit their jobs at the end of their maternity leaves. And I can't understand completely what it must feel like to want to rush home when there's always another story to work on.
The truth is, at 33, I can't imagine life without a career. I think I'll be a better mother because I have a job, showing my son that women can be mothers and workers, good cooks and great policymakers, football tossers and reporters.
And yet, as sure as I am of these things, I'm equally unsure about what to do. Which kind of surprises me.
People started asking me questions early. Not about what name we might choose or what diapers we'll buy; instead, they want to know how much time I'll take off from work, whether I'll come back, and, if so, whether I'll come back to the same job. I stutter and stumble in response. I couldn't even tell my boss recently whether I'll leave on my due date or work until the contractions start. Part of me is drawn to the idea of going home and trying this "nesting" thing I've been told since my second trimester I'd want to do. (Still waiting.) Another part of me doesn't want to go on leave so early that I'm sitting at home, staring at the diapers we've stocked, wondering if our child will be an "up to 10 pounds" or a "10 to 14 pounds" when I could be squeezing in just . . . one . . . more . . . column.
The whatever-you-want strategy I've advised so many women to focus on suddenly seems incredibly, overwhelmingly unclear.
And I might know why: Maybe I know too much.
I know what I hear from the countless women who contact me. And I know scary things like this: According to a 2005 study by the Center for Work-Life Policy, only 74 percent of women who take time off to raise children are able to find work later, and only 40 percent return to full-time professional jobs. But what do they come back to? Sure, by law an equal position has to remain open to them, but not necessarily the job they had before.
So not only is my world going to turn upside down because of a new family member I've created, but my job world is likely to change, too. Will this baby mean the end of my other "baby," the column? Will it mean moving on from a topic that I live, breathe and read about so much that it is my life? On the other hand, is this my chance to do something different? If I do try something new, will I regret making the change? On top of such a big life change?
(Gasp, pant.) And women say labor is tough.
I have the same concerns that many women with children do -- we may have more choices than our mothers did, but the onus still falls mostly on the mom to figure out what changes to make. And for those who want or need to work, the choices aren't always promising.
This pregnancy has given me a pass to a wonderful across-all-barriers club. The mother-security guards, cafeteria workers, janitors and editors at my workplace have all commented, questioned, applauded and advised. I know that many of them had more difficult decisions than I to make -- as single moms earning minimum wage with unpaid maternity leave, for instance.
On a recent crowded bus ride home, the driver yelled: "I know someone's getting up for the pregnant lady!" The first person to stand up was the woman who stands all day making sandwiches in the Post cafeteria. I knew she knew what it was like to work all day carrying 35 pounds more than just months before, worrying all the while about the job and child care. I didn't take her seat. I grabbed the one from the guy reading the Economist. He could bear to stand for a while.
Our archaic laws make it difficult for women to be workers, mothers and providers. Sure, the Family and Medical Leave Act of 1993 allows up to 12 weeks of leave to care for a newborn or newly adopted child (or for other medical or family emergencies). But it is unpaid leave, only companies with 50 or more employees need to adhere to it, and only employees who have worked at these companies for at least 12 months can use it. Meanwhile, nearly half of all workers in the private sector have no paid sick leave.
All of which makes The Return a major trauma for many new mothers. A friend said that when she was deciding what to do after her maternity leave, she had one criterion: The job would have to thrill her. Otherwise, it wouldn't be worth leaving her daughter. Another, who worked for a hot technology company for more than a decade, never loved her job. Last year, after months of worrying, questioning and budgeting, she decided to stay home with her baby. I remember hanging up after talking to her and thinking, "This is it: my first stay-at-home-mom friend." I think it was almost as momentous for me as it was for her.
Still, I do appreciate that we even have these choices. My mother became an art teacher, though she wanted to be an architect, because that's what women did in the 1960s. And when she became pregnant, she left work for years, returning only when I was old enough to get off the bus by myself.
I come, in fact, from a family of mothers who stayed home. My aunt often asks if I'll ever move back to the Pittsburgh area, where most of my big, loving family lives. I once told her it probably wouldn't happen and was about to explain that Steven and I wouldn't have many job options there. But before I got that out, she knowingly shook her head: "That makes sense. Steven has a good job in D.C."
Grrrr. It's that way of seeing the world, I thought, that will always send me back to work after I have children.
But then I think about the aunt who raised seven kids and is now helping raise their children. And my mother and other aunts. They all stayed home, and they did a mind-bogglingly great job. (See also: my big, loving family.) Did we all turn out this well because our moms didn't work until we could fend for ourselves?
I tell myself that's not the case. Children have more home time with both parents now. The percentage of women ages 25 to 54 who cite "home responsibilities" as their reason for not seeking a job has been shrinking for more than a decade. Meanwhile, the number of men citing that reason has edged up, according to the Labor Department. I know that Steven and I share equally (if not leaning more on him) in the home-responsibilities department. And he is one of those guys who could probably -- and more than willingly -- make being a stay-at-home dad work.
I think what I've learned during these past nine months or so is that no matter what I decide, I'll have to tell myself it's the right choice for me. But I'll always wonder if there's another way to do it.
So for now, like the many women I chat with each week, I'll make my choices, I'll question them, I'll love this kid with a love I assume I haven't felt before.
And then I'll march off to work with the other commuters, hoping that I'm handling The Return the right way.
Amy Joyce is a Washington Post staff
writer.
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