Life as a white, well-educated journalist in my 20s and early 30s was nothing short of stupendous. I suffered no discrimination in the workplace. I received plum assignments, travelled the world, won prizes, devoted myself singularly and exclusively to work! And I loved every second of it. What were the feminists talking about? There was no gender inequality in the workplace.
Then I had a baby.
I returned from my maternity leave in 2003 to learn I was the only member of the foreign news staff at the National Post, my then-employer, who would not be covering “the war” (no, not that war for equality rights; the one in Iraq). I was the only one who would not be deployed to Jordan, Israel or Iraq. The editors didn’t believe a new mother would want to go. I argued and pleaded and begged. Finally, a boss took pity and allowed me to replace an exhausted colleague in Amman.
I spent four weeks overseas, and travelled overland into Iraq to witness Baghdad fall to the Americans. I slept on the floor of the Palestine Hotel alongside five male colleagues – one of whom wandered around nude in the mornings. My car was shot at. I had a terrible bout of food poisoning.
Skinny and contrite, I returned to Toronto. I had missed my eight-month-old baby terribly. While less enthusiastic about taking on another overseas assignment, I also hated having to scale back my own ambition. But clearly, my life had shifted in some profound way. Society’s expectations of my role had changed, and so had my own. Eight years and another child later, I’m still working out exactly how this transition is supposed to work.
Yes, women have made great strides in the past few decades, as we were all reminded when the 100th anniversary of International Women’s Day arrived last week. Yes, they are enrolling in law and medical schools in equal – even greater – numbers compared with men. Yes, they are travelling the world, and reporting from war zones. And yes, they have property, voting, marriage and employment rights. But they still face one final obstacle: how to combine a career with childrearing.
Some women give up their paid jobs after childbirth and focus on their unpaid one: raising their families. They are extremely happy. But other women cannot afford to. And some don’t want to.
Feminism took it for granted that as women entered – or re-entered – the work force men would assume more responsibility at home, and shoulder more of the childcare and household responsibilities. But that has not been the natural evolution. Even women with extremely supportive husbands, who do more than their share of cooking and vacuuming, are often forced to become the CEO of a business that never shuts down: the running of a household.
At night, core demands of this enterprise swirl around in my head like yellow post-it notes flapping in the wind: Register three-year-old for introductory soccer by Wednesday. Sign parental consent form for eight-year-old so he can participate in Kiwanis Music Festival. Remember to dress him in dark trousers and white dress shirt. Pack shorts in his knapsack for gym. Buy bagels so children will have something edible for lunchbox. Buy 20 Smencils for class party. Make that 21. One for teacher. Purchase new pair of swimming goggles.
Men’s brains simply do not work this way. These are not the preoccupations of even the most dedicated father. And while these tasks may appear trivial, without somebody attending to them, a child’s life falls apart. My son won’t be allowed to sing in the choir, will sit out gym, and then suffer the indignity of lunchtime sneers about his limp-lettuce-nitrate-laden salami sandwich. “Your mom doesn’t feed you well does she?” (Yes, someone actually said that to a neighbourhood mother I know!)
