Wheeeeere’s The Kid???

Needing alone-time as a mother doesn’t make me selfish!

It’s Saturday evening and I roll up to the bar, like a bunch of other young(ish) adults.

Twenty minutes earlier my four-year-old fell asleep on my arm after our daily two-books-and-four-songs-bedtime-routine. My outfit and make-up were quickly applied while she watched her regular post-dinner cartoon. Over the years I’ve learned to clean up real good—real fast!

A single-mama and freelance creative with an untamable knack for adventure and an insistent refusal to accept the limitations of my situation, I’ve also learned to keep more balls afloat than your average well-trained circus clown. And I do so with my lipstick applied within the lines—and on heels instead of stilts. While anxiety-inducing at times, I run a fairly tight game.

After dimming the lights, placing a bowl of snacks on the coffee table, and throwing on my coat, I meet the sitter in the hallway, hop on my bike an ride on to the wine bar. Nowadays, it’s a rare but cherished treat.

Finally, some me-time!

What! You’re here alone? I thought the child was sewn to your hip!

I find my girlfriends and order a glass of red. As is often the case, we run into some acquaintances. A rare sighting these days, they flock to me, glasses lifted to greet me with a toast.

I hold my breath for what’s to come, and as predicted I don’t have to wait long:

—Ooooh, mama’s out on the town, having some fun! Wheeeeere’s the kid?

I look at them, nonchalantly.

—Honestly, I don’t know. I chained her to my bike outside, but last time I checked, none of them were there, so if you spot a black cruiser somewhere, let me know, cus I need that thing to get home!

Half of them laugh. The other half looks at me, utterly confused.

—Don’t worry, I’m joking. She’s at home. I locked the door and hid the knives. She’ll be fine!

The crowd’s mostly assured by now. One guy still glares at me in disbelief.

—Dude, I’m not insane. She’s in bed—with a responsible adult.

He lifts both eyebrows even higher.

No, the adult is not in her bed. She’s in bed. The babysitter is in my living room. Relax!

Remaining calm as a clam, I slam the contents of my glass while looking him dead in the eyes, before turning on one heel.

You’re just making small-talk you say?

As a mother, I get asked this, almost with fail, when I’m seen out enjoying myself—without my daughter.

Finding the query borderline insulting, to begin with, I can’t help screwing with the concerned party. Each time I’m asked, I’ll say something along the lines of ‘I left her in a ditch somewhere, lost her at the bar, sold her to the highest bidder’ (you get my drift)—and each time, someone looks at me like I’ve lost my marbles.

In the end, I usually ask them why they ask.

—Are they really worried about my child’s whereabouts?

—No, they say, it’s just a thing to say. Small-talk. Like asking about the weather.

—Really? I’ll respond. Be sure to ask all the fathers in here the same question.

Let’s flip it upside down, shall we…

Fathers do not get asked this question when they’re out. Needless to say, I’d thoroughly enjoy witnessing the following scenario:

[Dad walks into the bar. Aquaintances approach.]

—Ooooh, daddy’s out on the town, shaking his dad-bod! Wheeeeere’s the kid?

—Oh, he’s with his mom? That’s sooooo nice of your wife to babysit so you can get some time for yourself. Good for you!

This never happened. Ever.

Fathers aren’t ‘real’ parents, are they?

On the contrary, fathers get asked an entirely different set of questions when they’re alone with the kid(s), especially if they’re with a baby, and even more so if said baby happens to be crying.

‘Well-meaning’ strangers will approach with concerned looks on their faces:

—Wheeeeere’s the mom?

As if the mother is somehow more of a real parent, and the father simply a clueless babysitter, they’ll pat him on his back, as to tell him to stop this silliness and get the poor child back where it belongs.

We’ve come a long way (baby)

In today’s society, and especially in liberal metropoles like Berlin, we’ve come a long way. Many parents equally split their parental leaves and responsibility for their kids. There are also instances where the father takes more time off, simply because the mother is the breadwinner, or the father has a more flexible job.

A dad in my daughter’s kindergarten, for example, does the majority of the daily follow-up of his four kids, because he’s a freelance photographer, while his wife has a nine-to-five in finance.

This particular dad gets a lot of attention and praise for being such a present and involved parent. He gets patted on the back and told he’s sooooo amazing.

Surely, he’s doing a great job, but when tables are turned, which is still considered the norm, no one flinches. No one lifts an eye at the fact that they hardly ever see the kid(s)’s father. No one congratulates the mother on being sooooo amazing because she’s the one who brings the kid(s) to school every day.

Let’s go further

So while we have gotten far, there are still miles to go. We simply can’t seem to let go of the age-old belief that the mother is more fit for the task, while the father the secondary parent. When we see a mom alone, we still ask, ‘wheeeeere’s the kid?’. When we see a dad with the kids, we still have the urge to wonder ‘wheeeeere’s the mom?’

Father’s don’t ‘babysit’ their own kids

When dad is alone with the kid(s) he gets babysitter credit. I’ve heard several fathers say it too, including my ex before we split:

—I’m staying home tonight, my wife’s going out. I have to babysit.

—Excuse me???

Let’s get one thing straight: When a parent spends time with their child, whether a mother or a father, what do we call it? Parenting! What do we not call it? You got it: We don’t call it babysitting.

One does not ‘babysit’ one's own children—one ‘parents’.

Mother’s who take time for themselves aren’t selfish

When I was pregnant with my daughter, I ran into another mother I know, who had a one-year-old at the time. Without thinking, I, too, asked, ‘wheeeeere’s the kid?’.

Immediately she corrected me, and I’ll never forget her words:

—Remember this, when yours is born, you’ll be a mother, but you’ll always be a woman first. Many women let themselves be erased by motherhood, due to guilt and expectations. I need to still feel like a woman, not just for me, but in order to be a good mother as well.

At the time, I was so deep in my hormonal, soon-to-be-mom cloud, that her words didn’t compute. Not until months into it, when after not having spent a second apart from my baby since she was born, I had an hour to myself, did it finally dawn on me what she had meant.

FYI, the kid’s alright!

Since then, I’ve prioritized time for myself whenever I can manage, having learned that nourishing my own interests and independence is the only way that I’ll be a good parent. When I show up for myself, I’m more capable of showing up for my daughter.

So next time you see me out after dark, or anywhere else without my kid, keep in mind that this time for myself is hard-earned, precious, me-time and please quell that question—you know which one—because, no, I didn’t leave her in a ditch somewhere!

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