Two years ago I returned to work and Tee stepped out to do some solo parenting. Thus we moved into the second phase of our journey:
Parental Leave II: Electric Switcheroo
The Switcheroo is when the birth parent returns to work, the other steps out to do solo parenting. I’m increasingly vocal about the role of The Switcheroo in levelling the parental playing field, giving the partnership the best possible shot at equal parenting in the long run. I’ve previously written about the concept, but these are my reflections on it in practice.
You have to intentionally pass the baton
Our Switcheroo was pretty simple. We had already articulated what it meant to be the lead parent, and when I went back to work we did a direct switch of those roles. Because we had established all of our parenting habits and routines together, he knew them, was invested in them and continued them. I contrast this with a colleague who used his Switcheroo to do things completely differently – threw the routine out the window and just did whatever he wanted.
I vaguely remember reading about a Scandi country in which the Switcheroo is more common (enabled by a “both parents use-it-or-lose it” parental leave scheme), where men reported spending more time in playgrounds and museums and less time doing housework. They spent more time enjoying the experience. (Annoyingly I can’t find a link, so take this with a pinch of salt.) There are a few ways to look at this: are these men failing in their duty, leaving the burden of housework to their partner? Or are they the enlightened ones, shedding cultural expectations of what parental leave – or a home – should look like? I guess it depends on what’s been negotiated.
I found it helpful to read about maternal gatekeeping: when mothers limit the involvement of their male partners by taking control of major and minor parenting decisions. Maternal gatekeeping is sometimes described as a barrier to equal parenting – a barrier erected by women. Examples of this include unrealistic standards, and policing ‘best attempts’. Look, it’s fraught area and I’m not going to spend time on it now, but the Switcheroo only works if you LET GO FULLY. Gatekeep the gatekeeping.
Like all good job transitions, I wrote a handover note – see screenshot below. It was really important to me to handover the projects, worries and ideas, so I didn’t take them into the workplace as background noise.
It took a few weeks for me to truly let go of the baton, and for us to find our rhythm.
Tee had to stop overachieving. I wish I still had the WhatsApp messages from when I told my mum squad (description to follow) that on his first day in the job, Tee had gone to Bunnings and a baby store, transitioned Buddy to reusable nappies and cleaned the house. I was impressed, but they were offended on my behalf, asking “what is he trying to prove?!”. After a couple of days of doing everything, he found a more sustainable rhythm.
I had to stop going above and beyond on weekends. I spent the first weekend creating a handmade play centre and new and interesting food – the kind of “instagram mom” crap I never did on parental leave. I think I’d absorbed enough regressive nonsense about “motherhood” that I felt the need to compensate for being “absent” during the week. I snapped out of that pretty fast.
I had to learn what it meant to be the secondary parent. I had to trust Tee to try new things. And potentially fail. My job was to be 100% present at work, get my job done well and quickly, then race home to help with bedtime, to provide company, and to be genuinely interested in Tee’s day. Do unto others, etc. The best thing I did was to turn off my phone notifications, so I couldn’t see any messages. I was biologically programmed to be distracted by cute photos, and socially programmed to offer advice or rescue Tee if he was having a hard day. I had to trust that he was in charge; he could do anything I could do; in case of a real emergency, he would call me.
Finding community is harder for men…
The social part of the parenting experience is stubbornly gendered.
Mothers groups are a great Australian institution. In my area, they are a big deal. Roughly six weeks post-partum, our local health district invited 10-15 new mothers to three weekly group education session facilitated by a maternal and child health professional. She encouraged us to share how we were going. When we had questions, she encouraged other mums to share their solutions before jumping in as the expert. It was masterfully done. She created a safe space and camaraderie. At the third session, she encouraged us to swap numbers so we could meet again – and we did, 1-2 times a week for a year, in parks, cafes and bars. At the beginning I thought: I have nothing in common with these women, and was privately disparaging about… most of them. But deep bonds were forged in 2am WhatsApp conversations about colic. As my friend Jo said, “mother’s groups are special because they’re the only other people in the world who are interested in the colour of your baby’s poo.” Today: I would walk over hot coals for those women, and for their babies. But I digress…
Buddy was born during the first Covid lockdown, and the three sessions were run on Zoom rather than at our local maternal and child health clinic. It was officially for “New Parents” and Tee joined the first session – the only partner to do so. His presence changed the dynamic. I quickly realised that not everyone was happy to discuss chapped nipples and torn lady parts with random men on the internet. We had to protect the space for those who really needed it. As the keen bean who set up the WhatsApp group, I ambitiously named it “New Parents Group”… only to rename it Mum Squad a few weeks later. Tee would sometimes drop by Squad catchups, but he was always considered a guest (and fair enough). When it was time for the Switcheroo, they joked about bringing Tee into the Squad, but it wasn’t the vibe.
“Mum-dating” is easy and normalised. New mums see each other as fellow travellers and are quick start up a conversation. I met people who had no idea what I did for work, where I grew up or where I lived before Sydney. The conversation was often boring, but it also felt refreshing and… healthy?… to see a different slice of the world (oooh look at me, getting out of my echo chamber, what a beacon of community and understanding!). In my early days of parenting, older friends encouraged me to go to a park and just strike up conversations with other mums. It’s completely normal to say things like “if you ever want to go for a walk sometime, here’s my number” or “I’ve been planning to check out this activity at the library, wanna come?”. If a man said that to a woman, it would be weird at best, and potentially creepy – and a fast way to develop an unshakeable reputation in the playgrounds of Sydney.
Weekday activities are also targeted at women. Tee wasn’t going to sign up to pram pilates to “strengthen his pelvic floor”. He did sign Buddy up to Gymbaroo, which provides age-specific activities aimed child development and learning. It gave him a way to see Buddy’s progress, and a structured activity one day a week. Singing cutesy nursery rhymes with other people’s babies is my idea of hell, so it was a pleasure to watch them do this without me – the Joy of Missing Out (JOMO).
Disposition is also a factor. I don’t know how much of the above is due to Tee’s introversion, being an “indoor cat”, and his gravitation towards screen-based activities. He’s not a “big circle of friends” kind of guy. He didn’t need company to stay sane, or to survive the boredom of child care. He could recharge his batteries by reading manga during nap times. If he wanted to hang out with someone, he’d catch a colleague for coffee in the city, Buddy in tow.
I think Tee missed an opportunity to meet people from our local neighbourhood and to expand his network beyond his professional circles. But that’s a normative position, based on my values, not his preferences.
From an equal parenting perspective, I hold all the relationships with other parents in our area. When we all got Covid, I sent an SOS to the Mum Squad who dropped off toys. When Buddy broke his arm and had a week off school, I arranged playdates. When we needed to find a kid-friendly dentist in the area, I asked around. Social connection makes for social capital, which can be valuable. I hold all that. That’s both efficient and annoying. But it’s also the dynamic in our relationship – I have always maintained our shared friendships with other couples. So… I dunno?
… but I think this will change
I still spend every Thursday with Buddy, and I’m noticing more men pushing 9 month olds on the swing at 10am. I recently saw a group of three, indisputably “cool” guys – men who would have been hipsters 10-15 years ago and are now embracing the return of 1990s fashion and skateboard culture – hanging out at the playground with their babies, talking about parenting but also general cool guy stuff. I sat in the corner, unnoticed and, frankly, a bit lonely.
Minorities converge. As anyone who’s been an expat can vouch, if there are two Australians in your French town, you can bet they will find enough in common to catch up regularly. But if you’re one of the 20,000 Australians in Singapore, citizenship is not grounds for friendship. Our suburb is teeming with women on parental leave. If there are 20 women at the playgroup, “you have a baby! I have a baby!” isn’t enough of a conversation starter. But if there are 2 men, they will find each other in the crowd and make conversation. Whether that conversation progresses to “let’s do this again some time” is up to them. Dating is hard.
In my part of Sydney, there are already dedicated parents group for twins and “rainbow” (queer) families. Dad Squads and dad-targeted activities are just around the corner. Time to start working on that pelvic floor, boys.
The baby’s age shapes the experience
Tee’s experience of parental leave was also influenced by timing. I was solo parenting through winter and spring, with a slug of baby who slept half the day, couldn’t really communicate and was attached to the boob. Tee took over when Buddy was 7-8 months old, in late spring. He could sit in a high chair and was doing fewer and shorter naps. It opened up different activities (water play! beach time! bike trips!) and closed the door on others (long walks around a gallery with a sleeping baby in the carrier).
Parental leave is all about navigating a series of “firsts”. The longer/ later the leave, the more fun those firsts. For some people, the Switcheroo will include the start of walking and talking. Maybe those Scandi men had an advantage – they had older, more interesting kids. And presumably more energy, thanks to fewer night wakes and less breastfeeding.
It also creates a wonderful dynamic where the at-home parent is the expert on this phase. I’ve previously talked about the idea of “domains” – where one parent is in charge of certain area (e.g. Tee is the nappy parent, an arrangement I highly recommend). I think this is the true magic of the Switcheroo – upending the traditional dynamic and allowing the at-home parent to own new domains as they come up.
There is a minimum length
Tee took eight weeks, but it included the Christmas break, during which I jumped back in to full time parent mode.
I often think about the concept of “minimum effective dose” – a pharmacology term to understand the least medicine (chemical intervention) a patient needs for the treatment to be effective; more recently hijacked by productivity enthusiasts and life-hackers looking for the most efficient way to get a six-pack.
So what’s the minimum length of a Switcheroo to get its full benefits?
It’s hard to say. In Germany, they found that taking parental leave increased fathers’ participation in child care and housework, but only after at least 2 months OR taking leave solo.
My guess is 6 weeks is the bare minimum; but to get the real experience, I would recommend 3 months. This ensures a full handover at home – but also at work. It’s not uncommon for people to go on holiday for 4-6 weeks; but 3 months requires a resourcing plan. The Switcheroo needs to be long enough to fully leave work – with no expectation to answer calls or check emails. The organisation needs to take parental leave seriously, and learn to live without you.
There are also scenarios which might warrant a longer period, e.g. needing a career break, dealing with family issues/ care burdens, twins, a special needs kid, an older kid to hang out with, or supporting your spouse during a big career move.
If in doubt, I think people should err on the side of longer. A Swedish study found that the longer the father’s leave, the larger his share of the child care when both parents were back at work. (Conversely, the longer a mother stays at home, the less gender equal the division of child care in the long run.)
From a fairness and equality perspective, why not divide the leave in half?
I don’t know what we’ll do for our hypothetical second child, but I’ll definitely ask Tee to take longer. Who knows, he may even find some community or build a stronger pelvic floor.
Having a stay at home spouse is a gift
In the era of “quiet quitting” I could wax lyrical about giving yourself permission to step away from work, reflect on what’s important and renegotiate your boundaries. I think parental leave can provide that, for men and women, but I don’t actually remember it being a major revelation for Tee. That came later.
For me, the revelation was in what means to have a stay at home spouse. For a couple of months, I was a parent who didn’t have to think about parenting. I had all the benefits but none of the costs. I wasn’t on call, didn’t have to worry about dinner and never missed work because of child illness. I was a 1950s dad and it was AWESOME. And it gave me a lifelong gift: in the two years since, whenever I’ve met (generally) men in senior positions who have a stay at home spouse, or even a spouse working part time, I know that they are living with domestic help. Their accomplishments are not theirs alone. I see the privilege I didn’t see before. It gives me context – and, dare I say, a healthy scepticism – for their achievements.
