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ParentsJanuary 5, 2017

Having a baby in Denmark made me realise we need better Paid Parental Leave in New Zealand

mother holding newborn baby

New Zealand still sits below the OECD average for Paid Parental Leave. Francesca Jones knows what it’s like to live in a place with better entitlements for parents – she asks if we are making the right choices here.

Having a newborn baby is one of those life events you can never really prepare for, no matter how hard you try. Babies are hard work, mothers can sometimes be hormonal, and partners are often trying to hold down a full-time job. Everyone is tired. It is a stressful time for a lot of relationships. So, what if there was a way to make it easier?

mother holding newborn baby

Despite recent increases to Paid Parental Leave, New Zealand sits barely above the OECD average of 17.7 weeks. Mothers in New Zealand receive 18 weeks paid leave, while fathers may receive no paid leave at all. By comparison, Denmark has a generous parental leave system – a more equitable one. Mothers are entitled to 18 weeks paid leave, starting four weeks before their due date. They then have a further 32 weeks available, to be shared between them and their co-parent. All of this is paid, at full wage then eventually at benefit equivalent.

Ah, the Nordic countries, every liberal’s go-to comparison. The shining beacons of democracy when so much of the world seems so dark. If only we could be more like Denmark, like Norway, like Sweden. Then we could have all the nice shiny things. I didn’t choose to focus on Denmark because it is an obvious choice. I chose Denmark because I live there, and I’ve experienced the benefits of its parental leave first hand. These benefits are so much more than just the money.

Our daughter, my second child, was born just over a year after we arrived. Because I was at language school instead of working I did not qualify for maternal leave, but my husband was eligible for the parental leave. I’d had a difficult labour with my first child: haemorrhaging, and a uterine infection, and then our son had reflux. Following this experience our expectations of the newborn period were pretty low.

So, it was a huge weight off my shoulders to think my husband would be able to spend an extended period at home with us and our second baby. Like most newly arrived immigrants our social network was small, so we knew we would have to rely on each other.

We had no idea just how much I would need his support.

My labour was bad, catastrophically so.  My recovery, physically, would take a long time. Mentally it would take even longer. It was a huge shock not just to us, but also to our older child.  I was not well enough for him to be brought in, or for my husband to leave hospital, for three whole days.

We had never prepared my son for a scenario like this. I had not prepared myself to be away from him for so long either. The first few weeks of my daughter’s life were an exceptionally turbulent time. We were very grateful that when my husband did return to work, he was able to do so part-time, working three days a week for 20 weeks.

Some of the benefits of his time at home are obvious.  My husband and daughter got to spend more time together than many working parents get in those first precious months. Times were tough, but my husband got to be there for cuddles, for smiles, and to hand me the TV remote when I got stuck under a baby in a milk coma.

When we talk about parental leave, we are usually just discussing the care of a newborn baby. Surprise, many babies have older siblings! One of the less obvious benefits was how much my son gained from having his father around during that time.

On returning to spend a night in hospital with me, my husband explained to our son that he had to go, because ‘Mum and the baby need me.’ My son’s reply – ‘I need you’. He was right.

Over the coming months boisterous play (in my son’s humble opinion – the best kind of play) was definitely a Dad duty. Luckily for him, Dad was around for plenty of it.

There is a strong association between sleep deprivation and poor maternal mental health. Unless you are extremely lucky, nights with a newborn are always going to be tough. It is exhausting, especially for those still recovering physically from the effects of pregnancy and labour. Studies have suggested that actively working to reduce sleep deprivation amongst high risk mothers during the first few days of their babies’ lives lowers the incidence of post-natal mood disorders. Once post-natal depression has taken hold it becomes very difficult to tease out correlation and causation, but it is established that mothers with post-natal depression experience more sleep disturbances.

How could we support both mother and baby in this scenario? How about we don’t leave them at home alone all day? Give mum a chance to rest and baby another caregiver for those times when she needs a break.

I had periods after my daughter’s birth where I felt okay, grateful to be alive, and other periods where I felt really not okay. It made a huge difference that I had the ability to tuck myself up in bed for a rest even when the baby was awake.

My husband returned to work full-time when our daughter was five months old. By five months I’d had a chance to recover physically, my son had had a chance to adapt to a younger sibling, and our daughter was older and able to be without me for longer periods.

It isn’t just about us though; this scenario worked well for my husband’s employer too. My husband worked less hours, but he was better rested, and his home life was functioning better than it would have if he’d returned to work immediately after the birth of our baby. There is not much point turning up to work if you are not in a position to do your job because you’re exhausted.

A degree of sleep deprivation is to be expected for most families with a newborn. A study published in the American Journal of Men’s Health in 2012 showed that fathers’ of newborns were at a 39% increased risk of a workplace accident. If you have an office job, inattention at work may get you in your boss’s bad books, but if your job requires you to work with heavy machinery then the consequences can be deadly.

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This is one of the many reasons we need to stop dismissing Paid Parental Leave as some cushy, liberal dream. Fathers for years have soldiered on, going back to work and getting up 2am to help change nappies – or just refusing to change nappies at all. Many families do manage but instead of expecting people to soldier on, we should recognise that many have paid a price, whether it be in the form of workplace injuries, or in familial breakdown, or mental health problems for the main caregiver.  And having a newborn is not the only time our lives get metaphorical hand grenades tossed into the mix. Wouldn’t it be amazing to have a society that recognised that there are times in our lives that work, however important it may be, actively hinders our ability to cope?

The Council of Trade Unions have recently requested all workers be entitled to paid Domestic Violence leave, because they, like so many, believe the fewer barriers there are to fleeing violence, the better.

Recently, The Spinoff Parents published a piece about protecting children – Think Big for Kids. As Thalia so accurately said, we need to start thinking big, because as a nation we have some big problems. New Zealand has a child poverty rate of 29%, with a severe poverty rating of 9%. In comparison, Denmark’s child poverty rate is 3%. Yes, you read that right – 3%. Are we really going to put this down to a difference in GDP? Denmark’s poverty rate is a reflection of decades of political decisions that recognised that childhood is a time in people’s lives where they are a net cost to the tax payer, but that that cost is worth paying if you want a society of functioning, educated adults.

So yes, taxes here are really high. So high I look at New Zealand’s high earner tax rates and laugh, or at least I would laugh if the consequences were not so serious. There are trade-offs for the high tax rate though, especially during those times of life where we cost tax payers more. Some of the other things we have benefited from are:

  • A well-funded equitable system of early-childhood education from age one to six years. Lower income earners qualify for a subsidy so if you have a low income your children are entitled to attend for free.
  • A childhood benefit payout to all but the highest income earners. For a child aged up to two years old this is close to NZ$4000 annually.
  • A well-funded public health system.
  • Well-funded public infrastructure. Housing is dry and healthy. To make up for small apartments there are playgrounds everywhere. You just have to be hardy enough to use them in winter.

We can’t snap our fingers overnight and change to Denmark’s economic model. What we can do is be honest with ourselves. We don’t have to continue living the way we do. Living here in Denmark it is clear to me that supporting families in crisis and improving child poverty rates is possible. We do this by supporting all families, whatever their stage of life, and whatever their needs and means.

Improving Paid Parental Leave is one thing we could do that would support families. Tax cuts might be a tempting election promise, but are we considering the full cost? We can improve the lives of our nation’s children, if we decide to do it together. It might mean difficult decisions, but let us be clear – it is a choice.

Francesca Jones is the mother of two young kids, and is currently living in Denmark. Having nothing better to do with All The Free Time she enjoys as a stay-at- home mum, she decided to write a blog. She has ambitions to get a full night’s rest again one day. In the meantime her interests include coffee. You can find her at her blog My Flatpack Life, or on her Facebook page.

Follow the Spinoff Parents on Facebook and Twitter.


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ParentsJanuary 4, 2017

Don’t call me Slummy Mummy: Labels for mothers shame them and silence them

My kids
My kids

It seems many mothers get smacked with a label no matter how hard they try to avoid them. Spinoff Parents editor Emily Writes talks about some of the labels she’s been given and how much she hates them.

The first time I was called a Slummy Mummy I had to look up the term. I figured it was insulting and it turned out to be one of the rare times I was right. Since then I’ve been called a Slummy Mummy more times than I can count. As far as I can tell, a Slummy Mummy is a mum who doesn’t give a shit about anything. A frequent failure. A mostly inept, always slightly pissed, useless mother who can’t control her children.

kids

And apparently that’s me and a bunch of other mums.

Except that it isn’t.

Prior to the Slummy Mummy onslaught there was the Yummy Mummy phenomenon. A mostly creepy nickname given to mums who were committed to still being fuckable despite being apparently unfuckable because they’re parents. You see mothers can’t be sexual (if you think they can be, I dare you to write a blog post about Alexander Skarsgard’s abs and then read the comments) but they have to still look the part after they’ve had a kid. You know, lose the baby weight, put on some active wear, swing your toned ass while you push your buggy.

For obvious reasons I have never been called a Yummy Mummy – I am in fact a person and not a delicious Christmas pudding so this hasn’t bothered me too much. But I have been called a Slummy Mummy, a mumtrepreuneur, and a Mummy blogger.

In case you weren’t aware, a mumtrepreneur is a mother with a business because business is for men and women without children. It’s important to make this clear, so we give mothers who do it a unique moniker so they remember they’re mothers. Who have businesses. I’ve spoken to many businesswomen who loathe the term because it’s hard enough making it in that cut-throat world as a woman, let alone a mother. Why separate mothers out and label them in their work? Where are the dadtrepreneurs? Oh they’re entrepreneurs. The default. When you put it that way, it’s not sexist at all.

Then of course – Mummy bloggers. See there’s a hierarchy in writing and it goes something like this:

Authors – top of the food chain. Essayists – very fancy. Published writers and journalists – second in line. Old White Men columnists who are actually just mediocre bloggers who write things like “I saw a heron soaring high in the dusky sweet September sky, pointed sharp beak a shimmering saffron. It looked at me and I thought about John Key – What will be his legacy?” Poets – probably here. Reviewers and the like fit in the middle. Buzzfeed list writers. Stuff web editors. Romance novelists. The woman I saw at Day on the Green who took a dump on the grass because she couldn’t wait at the portaloos. Mummy Bloggers.

I wonder why that is? I wonder why when women write about parenting they’re mummy bloggers. And when men write about parenting they’re ground-breaking? A mummy blog, no matter how good the writing is or how many readers or “engagement” (that buzzword beloved by media execs) it has, will never win a Canon Award. Because a mum is behind it. And if a mum did it, it’s a hobby.

Her business is a hobby, that’s why she gets a cutesy name for it. Parenting is her job – and if she does it even slightly outside the mould of perfect-martyr parenting, she’s a Slummy Mummy.

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You might wonder what the harm is, in ensuring all mothers are labelled according to their parenting prowess. It’ll be no surprise to you that I see it as harmful to varying degrees, and here’s why:

Separating us to label us divides us

Mothers with disposable income who feel like they’re fucking up being a parent will buy more shit. They’ll spend more time writing comments in shitty parenting sections if they feel attacked and wound-up. Who benefits from this idea that all mothers are fighting with each other? That the Yummy Mummys are on top and the Slummy Mummys are the worst? Of course there will be those that say mums came up with these nicknames and labelled themselves but I find that hard to believe. I find it less hard to believe that women would take on these nicknames – because hey, if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.

If we felt connection to each other and not in competition with each other, if we felt confident and empowered – how many industries would keel over almost overnight? How many communities would flourish?

It’s simplifying the complex – and yes, parenting is complex, dipshit

I won’t try to convince those that believe stay at home mums just sit around all day that they’re wrong. I won’t bother with making sure people understand the daily brainpower required to parent. Who cares if they don’t get it?

You know if you’ve been there. You know it’s not black and white, that there are days when you’ve got it all together and there are days when everything falls apart. That there’s few parents who are entirely perfect or entirely useless. We are a mix of both. And that’s OK.

Trying to imply you’re only either great at this gig or shit at it is ridiculous. Parenting is a job that changes day by day, second by second. Every parent has thought at one point or another – I’ve clocked this, I own parenting! Only to be kicked up the arse the next second by teething or bed wetting or tantrums or food aversion.

The only constant in parenting is change. So how on earth do labels work?

Labels silence us and stop us sharing with each other

It’s no surprise that I got a new round of “Slummy Mummy” attacks after posting a photo of my house looking messy. If you show any other side to parenting other than perfection you’re asking for a backlash. Despite an increase in blogs showing the “dirty side of the room” as original “Mummy Blogger” (otherwise actually known as an award-winning and best-selling author and writer) Heather Armstrong calls it – the backlash is still there and it’s still vicious.

Deviation from perfection will be punished. And what does that do for parents who are struggling? Or parents who are trying to measure themselves against a yardstick that isn’t even real? Those who are trying to work out how they can live up to an Instagram post – effortlessly casual and apparently accidental – that actually took the influencer two hours to set up?

Of course there are the usual calls of “just ignore it!” and the ever popular “In my day we didn’t have social media and we just got on with it”. Yeah yeah Ethel. We hear you, times were better when you were just washing your clothes in the river and Moses floated past in a wicker basket.

I really believe that even if we don’t buy into the nonsense, we can’t escape it. We’re like frogs and the water is boiling.

Every week I get dozens of emails from mothers who are struggling against an ideal that is unachievable. And why wouldn’t they? Do anything differently and you might be labelled a Slummy Mummy. When you should be a Yummy Mummy.

Well I’m neither.

I am not a slummy mummy because I do care.

And that’s true of all of the mothers I meet – certainly all of those who pour their heart out to me in emails, struggling against a cascade of criticism.

In the words of one of my first teen crushes “We care a lot”.

I love parenting and I try really hard to be the best parent I can be. There’s literally no correlation between the effort I put in to keeping my children happy, healthy and safe, and how clean my house is. There’s zero connection between how hard I work for them and how I look and what clothes I’m wearing.

Don’t tell me what kind of job I have, whether I have tattoos, whether I drink wine, or Google search “Idris Elba bulge” six times a week has anything to do with how loved my kids are.

It doesn’t.

So don’t call me Slummy Mummy. Don’t call any mum a name designed to shame them or shut them up, separate them or put them in their place. We’ve got a place. It’s right here – loving our kids and doing the best we can with what we have. You don’t get to decide for us what we call that or what it looks like for each of us.

If you must call me something, I will accept: Dwayne The Rock Johnson’s Mummy Movie is Better than Brendan Fraser’s The Mummy Mummy.

Emily Writes is editor of The Spinoff Parents. Her book Rants in the Dark is out February 27. Pre-order it here. Follow her on Facebook here.

Follow the Spinoff Parents on Facebook and Twitter.


This content is entirely funded by Flick, New Zealand’s fairest power deal. In the past year, their customers saved $417 on average, which would buy enough nappies for months… and months. Please support us by switching to them right now.