No Space

So, the babysitter is here and I have a precious few hours to do some things by myself. Now that Sunshine has taken to her, I just love these afternoons to myself, though haven't quite adjusted to the fact that I actually have Time To Myself. To make this a banner of a day, I actually get to go out to dinner tonight with some other mothers (known as Ladies Night--oh god who came up with that name?). Time for a shower in the afternoon and a nice dinner at a great Indian restaurant--is it my birthday? Did I win the lottery? When did these things become such sources of pleasure? One thing that motherhood has taught me is to appreciate the little things (like showers and clean clothing).

But all this joy, this freedom, is clouded over by The Letter that came in the mail today.

So we live in a town with about 80,000 residents (including the surrounding area) and there are less than 100 daycare spots for children under 3. Let that roll over your tongue: less than 100 places. Here, I could wax poetic about so-called modern Germany and it's tenacious grip on the concept of Kinder, Kuche and Kirche, but I won't (okay maybe later).

But the point is, we registered Sunshine for a spot at our local daycare/preschool last fall so that she might get a spot this September (yes, a year in advance). Did we get a spot? No! We just got the rejection letter today. It depresses me that we didn't get a spot for a variety of reasons, but what really irks me is the absolute opacity of their selection procedure. Do we know why we weren't chosen? No? Will we? No? Yes, we are on the waiting list, but it is one of the greater mysteries where we might be on that list. So who knows if Sunshine will be able to go somewhere without me because in this town, you have to register the babes the second they are born, otherwise you are too late.

There is a continual discussion in this country about motherhood, feminism, and working: one that has pretty much annoyed the hell out of me from the get go. The terms of the discussion are so black and white: either you are a Mother Who Works and therefore a good feminist (but maybe a bad mother for leaving those poor babes alone), or you are Stay at Home Mom and therefore doing your part to support a family-lifestyle (gag), but have surely betrayed any aspect of feminist principles you might have possessed. For the most part, I refrain from participating in this debate for the most obvious of reasons: the terms of debate are too simplified and force people into a kind of shoebox-labelism that I utterly despise.

So all I have to say at the moment is: until this country can offer a real set of options for families in terms of quality daycare, real parental leave of absence and the possibility to work under flexible conditions, the whole debate about working mothers and stay-at-home-moms (feminism betrayed vs. babies abandoned?) will remain a whole lot of hogwash. Until then, we will continue as we always have: finding our way despite the hurdles placed in our way and mucking along the best we can.

My final appeal though is to all women out there: stop judging each other so damn harshly! Whatever happened to solidarity? There is no one Right Way to do this thing called motherhood. Some stay home, some work. And woe to those who are forced into doing one or another against their wishes