The fight over who does what
It’s normal for couples to argue over how they divide childcare, but there are often bigger underlying issues at stake. Cecile Meier talked to five parents about the recurring fights they have with their partner over who does what, and found that our values and power dynamics are in flux.
Women can have it all, right? Look at our Prime Minister, juggling her 3-monthold daughter with the most important job in the country. If she can do it, so can we. Except Ardern has a full-time, stay-at-home partner and loads of support. How do normal families – where both parents often have to work – split the childcare? What was typically deemed women’s work is now supposedly a gender-neutral task. We talked to parents around the country, with varying incomes and backgrounds to find out where the tension points are. Some say their equal relationship unwittingly turned into a 1950s scenario when they had kids. Others are nailing the equal split. But they have one thing in common: they are all bloody tired.
‘‘I EXIST SO THAT HE CAN WORK’’ Dunedin family. One preschooler. As told by Corina*.
When our child was a baby, it was about sleeplessness – whisper-fighting about who should get up, who’d had less sleep, who was more exhausted, whose fault it was that the baby woke up.
Nowadays, division of housework is a biggie. Then there’s The TV Debate – I restrict screen time; he doesn’t. The Sugar Debate – I restrict sugar and try to make sure every meal is nutritious; he doesn’t.
The number one issue, though, is still ‘‘who deserves time out’’. On the weekend, he’ll complain about being tired [he works in hospitality] and use that as a reason why he can’t get out of bed or help with parenting, completely disregarding the fact that I’ve also worked a full week [self-employed] on top of doing the majority of housework and invisible labour. That makes me furious.
At one point, I put together a detailed hour-by-hour comparison of how much work/sleep/rest/parenting/fun time each of us had each week. That was a useful tool for trying to right the balance – I think he was surprised by the numbers once he saw them clearly laid out.
I am the one getting up in the night to resettle our child. I do every preschool dropoff and pick-up, all meal planning, shopping and most of the cooking. On his days off, my husband does the vast majority of ‘‘tending to’’ – taking our child to the bathroom, getting water or snacks, helping with clothes, playing, bath times.
I work from home, so I take time off if our child is sick. This is also the reason I end up doing most of the laundry and putting all the
clothes away – if I left them in washing baskets, they would live there permanently. I buy all the clothes, organise all the play dates, organise all the babysitting, take care of any doctor’s appointments.
I take care of all daycare bills, communication with teachers, baking for school events – the assumption being that daycare exists so that I can work. And I exist so that he can work.
A POLITICAL STATEMENT I DON’T WANT TO BE MAKING North Island town family. Three children under 4. As told by Melanie*.
My partner and I are both doctors training to be specialists (him a surgeon). It’s a real challenge. I feel like we haemorrhage money to keep our family happy and functioning. My Food Bag, cleaners, nannies... all the things you don’t want to admit you’re using to maintain your career. You feel like a failure that you can’t do everything. You don’t want to admit that they eat fish fingers for dinner.
When we got married, we were equal. We both had medical backgrounds, earned the same amount of money and worked long hours. Once we had children, I felt like there was a fundamental shift of expectations in what I would do and what he would do.
We fell into these gender stereotypes, even though I am a feminist. We never sat down to discuss it. We never thought about who would wake up at night.
Some of it, I didn’t mind. I don’t think women should be pushed back into work right after having a baby. I took a year off for each of my children and then went back to work part-time. I’m paid for 30-odd hours but I do more than that. It just means I can leave the office and continue working at home.
You’re the mother: how could you not be there if your child needs you? There’s always mummy guilt. The expectation is that you’re at home and when you go back to work, really, it should be nice and part-time – like a hobby. ‘‘Oh, you’re going back to work – gosh you must miss your children. How do you balance that?’’ Those kind of comments. Nobody’s asked him that.
His work is so inflexible that I have to work [as a GP] around it. My ambitions have gone because we’ve had to move every year for his training and he works such long hours. He’s out the door at 6.45am and back when the work is done, plus he is on-call at least once a week and works weekends. I do most of the childcare. He will occasionally help prepare the kids’ lunches, and when he is there, he is attentive but the time is very little.
It’s mostly me waking at night. I am so mindful of his job and how important it is because he is operating on people. His job and career is more important. That’s what I am told and what I hear constantly.
When I was at a conference once, he had to leave early from work to get the kids and I kept apologising. But then I was like: what the hell? What does he contribute? He means well, though. He is wonderful and very apologetic. All his spare time, he is with the kids or studying.
There is definitely tension and we argue, but we are not volatile people. He doesn’t want it to be like that, either. He does what he has to do. He feels this obligation and commitment to the people he’s working for but equally you have an obligation and commitment to your family. He gives so much to his work, what’s left for home is a fraction of his energy.
When I see him coming home from work at 3am and out the door again at 6am, I get so angry, because he gives so much to this hospital and to this community. It’s not fair: your children haven’t seen you in how long? That’s when I run out of patience.
I’m angry at the system. I wish for my children that it could be better. I look at the role that I’ve fallen into and think: what am I teaching my children, doing groceries, meals, paying all the bills? And it’s not by choice. It just happens. It feels like a political statement, and one I don’t want to be making.
TEAM EFFORT
Auckland. Blended family with three children. As told by John*. Both of us have come from being solo parents for so long that we are really grateful to have a partner to share the load. If I realise at 10pm that we don’t have bread for the next day, I can go to the supermarket because my partner is at home with the kids. It’s things other parents take for granted, but we know what it’s like having done it alone.
We’re both teachers, which means early starts and meetings in the morning and after school. My partner’s 5-year-old daughter is at the school where she teaches, which makes it easier. My youngest goes to after-school care and the oldest just walks home.
We moved in together last school holidays. It’s been busy as both my boys play rugby and soccer, so I have to take them to training four days a week right after school. I get up at 6am and the day doesn’t really end until I am home around 7.30pm on school days.
We both do meal planning and grocery shopping together and I do the cooking, mainly because my partner has to travel further for work.
We haven’t had a lot of fights yet, but there has been a bit of pressure when one of
‘‘Oh, you’re going back to work – gosh you must miss your children. How do you balance that?’’ Those kind of comments. Nobody’s asked him that.
us has school reports to write, which means the other takes over the housework. It’s a team effort.
HAPPIER APART Christchurch family. Three children. As told by Jocelyn*.
The first crack appeared in our marriage was shortly after those heady, love-filled days following the birth of our first child.
Before the birth, we were two equal parts of a whole and brought out the best in each other. We never discussed whose job it would be to take care of the kids. We knew I would be the primary caregiver because I earned less, and I assumed he’d be on the dad gig every chance he got.
But after we had a child, the equilibrium shifted and so did my world. It seemed that once I stopped earning money, my contribution wasn’t needed in other ways either, and that everything I had to offer was of less value, simply because my primary task was now taking care of a baby. I felt completely abandoned in what felt like the hardest job of all time with the worst working conditions, and robbed of the good family vibes I thought I should be feeling.
The defining moment came 10 months after our second baby was born. I was kneedeep in nappies, wearing a vomit-stained T-shirt and already tearful when my husband casually mentioned he’d sleep in the spare room that night because he had an early flight to catch before staying in a luxury hotel for four nights. He would have room service; I couldn’t get a hot cup of tea.
It wasn’t the wisest thing to say to a mother up 11 times each night to a baby with reflux and who couldn’t nap in the day because the toddler didn’t want to. In that moment, I could see that what I thought would be a co-parenting family was actually like a solo parent unit with a solid financial backer.
My husband had a demanding job, but in my opinion, I had a more demanding one. He had a contract with rights and pay, I had two bosses who couldn’t be reasoned with, who wanted all of my time and sanity, and didn’t pay a bean.
Resentment worked its way into my heart, and once there, it never left. It was years before we went our separate ways and ironically, there’s a little more co-parenting now that we are apart. You may think that things would just be harder for me now that I am on my own, but actually I have redirected