Barefoot And Pregnant
By Laura Bass
@laurapbass
“Honestly,” my boss began, a bit of a smirk on his face, “I don’t see you having much of a future here.” He picked up his bagel to take another bite, “You really are better suited to being barefoot and pregnant than to climbing the ladder.” I shifted in my seat, my face suddenly on fire. My hands found a napkin to twist and clench and a million thoughts raced through my head.
He continued down his checklist—these one-on-one meetings were scheduled every few weeks, a time for each of his subordinates to report on their programs, discuss any concerns, and talk about how to improve. Ignoring my fire-engine red face, he moved on as if he had said nothing out of the ordinary.
Stunned by his unprompted statement, I managed to answer the rest of his questions while trying to process what he said. Did he really say that? The comment was entirely inappropriate (and probably illegal), right?
I wasn’t even thinking about having a baby yet; I started this job less than a year ago, and had been dating my boyfriend for less time than that. I was much more focused on the possibility of engagement than hypothetical future children. Why did he feel the need to comment on my future reproductive choices
Was it ... could it really be ... did the fact that my boyfriend happened to be a single dad automatically exclude me from moving forward in my career?
The meeting ended but the phrase reverberating in my head did not. “Barefoot and pregnant, barefoot and pregnant, barefoot and pregnant,” repeated itself over and over. I told a few people. My boyfriend was ready for a confrontation, my dad wanted to have a meeting with the CEO. I talked them both out of it; this was my job, I had to handle it—that is, if you could call ignoring it and seething with silent resentment each time I had to interact with my boss handling it.
It wasn’t much longer before things shuffled around and he wasn’t my boss anymore, but his words, and the unreasonable expectations he had placed on my time took their toll. Though there were aspects of the work that I loved, eventually, I decided I’d have to choose between this job and my sanity. Some at the non-profit I worked for had figured out how to make both a family and the time-intense job work, but most in roles similar to mine were single, and able and willing to dedicate well beyond forty hours a week to their job.
Discouraged by my experience and seeing up close the demands of life with a child, I felt like I had to make a choice. My boyfriend resented the lack of control I had over my time, and as we imagined a future together, I knew my job would continue to create tension. I felt branded by the phrase ‘barefoot and pregnant,’ imagining it being repeated anytime my name came up in a meeting, thinking every time I chose time with my boyfriend over additional hours at work, I was just proving those words were right.
My boyfriend turned into my fiance, and with a mixture of regret and relief, I requested a move from a program role to an administrative one. I handed in my work cell phone and credit card and got married, returning from my honeymoon to a new forty-hour a week administrative job at a different location.
Now married with a kindergarten stepson who lived with us half of the time, I really thought about the tension between work and family, and the sacrifices women had to make. I examined the choice I had made, the relief I felt knowing that I was done with my work week once I hit forty hours, no longer constantly worrying “Is this enough?” I found freedom in the time clock, in the consistent way I could divide myself between work and my new family. I watched pregnancy announcements lead to resignations and I listened to mothers at work discuss trying to balance the needs of their family with the demands of their job.
I’d been raised in the “you can do it, girls can do anything” 90s. I had a working mom, and among my friends, there was a mix of working and stay-at-home moms. I’d never given much thought to the choices that they had to make before now; that being a stay-at-home mom meant giving up a career, that returning to the workforce when your children were older wasn’t always as easily done as said, and that all moms had to make hard choices about their time. Before now, I hadn’t given a lot of thought to which kind of mother I’d be: one that stays home or one that works. But I always thought the choice would be mine to make.
Coming out of a season where work dominated my life, I was starting to realize that I couldn’t do everything the way I wanted to, all at the same time. As a stepmom, I was learning what life with children was like. I started to see the sacrifices of time children required as I tried to balance a long commute with t-ball games and school events. I knew that when we added more children to our family, the demands would increase. I would have to make choices; prioritize—there were only so many hours in a day. My mantra became, “I can do anything, but not everything at the same time.” A demanding job would mean less time for my family. Was choosing a less demanding job or staying home a waste of my college degree?
A year later, I interviewed for a new job at the corporate office. I was visibly pregnant with my first child during the interview, and when we arrived at the “Do you have any questions for us?” portion of the interview, those words bounced back into my head. Barefoot and pregnant, barefoot and pregnant. I gestured awkwardly to my stomach. “Obviously, I’m pregnant. Will maternity leave or anything be an issue?”
“No, no,” they assured me. “It will be fine.”
And it was.
They worked with me when my childcare plans fell apart in the middle of maternity leave. Nobody blinked an eye when I made multiple trips a day to the supply closet that, while not the ideal pumping room, had been thoughtfully spruced up to be as comfortable as possible for the purpose of pumping. And no one questioned my lunchtime runs to the daycare across the street so I could nurse my baby. The building was filled with working moms, talking about children was common. It was as supportive of a work environment as I could have asked for.
And yet, I cried in the car on the way to work every morning for a solid month, having a hard time with leaving my baby. I daydreamed about being a stay at home mom while clinging to the structure and predictability of my work week as my world tossed and turned; the normal struggles of adjusting to being a new mom, added to the stress of returning to work, compounded by the reality that during that time, my dad was dying of cancer and his days were limited.
I wondered, every day: “Am I making the right choice?”
***
“Do you think you’ll get bored, staying home?” a friend asked.
I carefully flipped a pancake studded with rainbow sprinkles. She was holding my newborn, our preschoolers were running through the house, shrieks of laughter following them.
“No … I don’t think so,” I said. ”With three now, and kindergarten starting in the fall, and the logistics of Jason’s new job, staying home definitely makes the most sense.” I moved a pancake to a plate, then continued, “I also have so many projects I want to work on, I think I’ll stay busy. I don’t know if I’ll stay home forever, but I think it will be good for a couple of years.”
She smiled down at my infant. “They are so precious at this age, but I was ready to get back to work after my maternity leaves.”
“I had a hard time with it,” I responded. “I never felt ready.”
Flipping another pancake, I added “I’ve done the full-time working mom thing, and the part-time working mom thing, now we’ll see what the stay-at-home mom thing is like.”
I felt a familiar combination of regret and relief while we discussed my choice. I was looking forward to staying home, excited to have more flexibility for my family and to not have to leave my baby before I felt ready. The idea of not having to worry about pumping at work was exhilarating and I was ready to put down the weight of job expectations for a while.
At the same time, I was leaving a job that I loved, one that had been an excellent situation for our family for several years. I was opting for a gap in my working experience that would have an impact on my future ability to get a job. I was choosing an uncertain path; I knew what trying to balance work and children was like but I didn’t know yet what being home full-time was like. I’d held a job since I turned sixteen, and I wondered what not having the structure and expectations of work or the satisfaction of a paycheck would be like.
***
In my early days of motherhood I agonized over homemade baby food versus expensive organic baby food from the store. Which laundry detergent should I use? What childcare situation would work best?
For years, I struggled with the choices I made around work, thinking they defined what kind of a mom I was. Was the agony of pumping at work worth it? Should I keep working? Which decision meant that I was a good mom?
What I didn’t realize yet: there isn’t one right choice that makes you a good mom.
There are always benefits and downsides, and there is no perfect answer.
My employment status isn’t what makes me a good mom. But making the best choice for my family—the one that makes sense in our current circumstances—does.
Guest essay written by Laura Bass. Laura is a native North Carolinian who lives in a house full of boys. She spends her days picking up Legos, encouraging creativity in her kids, and filling all of her free minutes with words—both writing and reading them. She can be found blogging or on Instagram.
This essay was developed in the Writing with Purpose workshop.