I Was ‘Fortunate’ to Experience Maternity Leave

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I consider myself quite fortunate. The privileges of being a white, educated, middle-class individual are hard to ignore. Yet, as I sit down to express my frustrations about the inadequate paid family leave in this country, I’m painfully aware of just how privileged I am.

I’m fortunate that my employer is obligated to provide at least the minimal unpaid Family and Medical Leave Act (FMLA) leave. I’m grateful they offer me three weeks of paid leave. I’m fortunate enough to be able to take additional unpaid leave after my FMLA benefits expired due to exceptional circumstances. Even though my job felt a bit shaky during this time, I’m lucky to have colleagues who appreciate me.

I had a solid plan in place. I did what any privileged person would do: I built up my savings. I synchronized my pregnancy (again, lucky!) so that there would be a few months without daycare expenses, which was supposed to cover the unpaid portion of my maternity leave. I expected to be away from work for the standard 12 weeks, coinciding with our least hectic period of the year.

Then, Rowan made his grand entrance two months early, after I’d already spent two weeks in the hospital. By the time I wrapped up my maternity leave, he had only been home for a month. I was lucky to have options that allowed me to extend my unpaid leave; I didn’t have to rush back to work while he was still in the hospital. Just think about it: due to the lack of sufficient leave, many mothers are forced to balance a NICU baby with returning to work. If they’re fortunate, they might have a bit of maternity leave left when their baby finally comes home.

So, what’s the catch?

I feel fortunate. Yet, as I review my year-end pay stub, I see that I earned 20% less than the previous year.

Like many women, I returned from maternity leave with no sick or vacation time remaining. Oh, and yes, I’m lucky to have those benefits to begin with. I placed my tiny baby in the chaotic world of daycare and headed back to work, all while grappling with the health issues and emotional challenges stemming from his premature birth.

Predictably, things unraveled quickly. I scheduled appointments for myself, and Rowan had his share of them too. He got sick. Then he passed whatever bug he had onto the rest of us. No matter how “responsible” I tried to be, I couldn’t keep up with the drain on my sick time.

Then, last week, Rowan contracted respiratory syncytial virus, followed by bronchiolitis. I spent a long, sleepless night at the hospital, holding him as he struggled to breathe, his skin pulling under his ribs and his nostrils flaring. I had just six hours of sick time left. Now? None. And I only received pay for 28 hours last week. But I’m lucky.

I’m fortunate to have a job that allows for these situations. I’m grateful that I still have employment.

I’m lucky because it could be so much worse. Other parents face the impossible choice of keeping their jobs or sitting at their sick child’s bedside in the hospital. Some parents return to work just days after their “maternity leave” because they need to provide for their families. Other babies miss out on crucial healthcare because their parents can’t afford to take time off work without risking their jobs.

Caring for our children (or partners or parents) shouldn’t be seen as a stroke of luck; it should be a fundamental expectation. Some may argue that if we weren’t prepared for the consequences, we shouldn’t have had kids, that children are a choice. I call nonsense on that logic.

There’s so much more to unpack here, and I can’t possibly address every angle. The spiraling costs of healthcare, daycare, and the lack of adequate parental leave are all entangled, creating a society that fails the very children who will eventually contribute to our tax base. We’re spending tax dollars and emotional resources addressing the public health repercussions of this flawed system, which assumes that 12 weeks of unpaid leave is sufficient bonding time, even if a baby arrives early.

To sum it up: My baby came early. I earned 20% less last year. I spent last week caring for him while he struggled to breathe. And I feel lucky because I still have a job. It’s time we redefine what it means to be “lucky.”

This article originally appeared on June 12, 2016.

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Key Takeaway: We need to reassess our understanding of “luck” in the context of parental leave and childcare.