On Becoming a Domestic and Laboratory Goddess

Dr. Isis is largely indisposed at the moment.  She's neck deep in some crazy-awesome science (or is it awesomely crazy?), and regrets that she's been unable to visit her supplicants, worshippers, toadies, and underlings.  Instead, she sent me, the humble Mr. Isis, to fill in for a day.  I have no shoes (worth posting) and don't understand why women need more than, say 20 pairs of shoes.  I myself only have 3 pairs (black, brown, tennis), and a pair of slippers.  And I wear them until the soles are gone.  Just so you know where I'm coming from.  Frankly, I think Dr. Isis has been coddling the lot of you, and I won't stand for it.  Take this letter, for example, from that Becca character who keeps posting in the comments:

Oh Most Exalted Goddess Isis!

The most recent "ask Dr. Isis" reminded me of something that has always made me feel ever-so-slightly uneasy about your beloved blog (and indeed, all the other women in science blogs I am familiar with). You present an amazing picture of yourself as a kick-ass scientist and domestic goddess. Your blog offers considerable insight into what caring for a small child is really like for you (3am posts and all; the good, the bad, and the totally bizarre of parenting). Yet, there is something curiously absent in your blog. There are very few posts that give a good indication of the role Mr. Isis plays in raising Little Isis. Now I assume Mr. Isis must be a special man to have attracted the attentions of the Goddess, yet he is not discussed very often (and sometimes when he is, it is as a rather lovable but slightly dim fop needing nearly as much help as Little Isis!... and yes, I'm thinking of the forgotten underwear).

You point out that childrearing won't be a responsibility shared completely equally between men and women until men learn to squeeze out the spawn. Now, in observing the process of pregnancy, I'm struck by how all-consuming it is for the mother (even the early stages). But frankly, what scares me about having a child is not (just) the 9 months of pregnancy, labor, recovery time, and breastfeeding. No, it is the 20 + year commitment of centering your life around the needs of another human being. The truth of the matter is Dr. Isis did not miss work to sing "five little monkeys" with Little Isis because she was the only one biologically equipped for it (well, Mr. Isis could be a tone deaf, I suppose... but you know what I mean). Do you feel the parenting responsibilities for Little Isis fall too much on your shoulders? Do you feel Mr. Isis does his part and then some, but there is simply too much? Did you formally discuss parenting work load with Mr. Isis prior to having Little Isis (and if so, did it help)?

First, a big misconception needs to be cleared up:  I am not tone deaf.  In fact, I have a lovely singing voice, sing in the church choir, sang a cappella in college (yes, sometimes I feel like Andy from The Office), and am generally pretty darn musical.  If anyone in this house knows how to sing "Five Little Monkeys," "Twinkle, Twinkle," "Livin' On a Prayer," or "I Touch Myself" (I love the Divinyls), it's me.  So there.  Any impression you've gotten to the contrary is incorrect.  Also, I had nothing to do with the fop-iness of my character in this blog.  If I had had a hand in constructing your image of me, I would have been brawny and handy and extremely virile.  And while I can be as dim as any dude, I stand by my decision to not go buy underwear at Christmas, and I'd go commando on Christmas Day again if I had to.  I'm not proud.

But look, Becca, you wanted to know about my role in raising the Isis Brood, and how we all decided who was going to do what around here, and about the role of parents in general.  These are reasonable questions, I suppose, though I don't much like the cut of your jib.  Let's tackle them one at a time (because I'm methodical like that).

Do you feel the parenting responsibilities for Little Isis fall too much on your shoulders? Do you feel Mr. Isis does his part and then some, but there is simply too much?

Oh, Mr. Isis does his part, Becca, let me assure you.  He does more than his part.  But you know what?  So does Dr. Isis.  It's not a competition.  Becoming a parent means that you have chosen to add an incredible, completely unfathomable responsibility to your life, one that you will never be rid of (you will still be, or at least feel, responsible for that person, 20+, 40+, and 60+ years into the future).  And any competent parent will often feel like they have way too much responsibility on their shoulders.  It's just part of the territory.  We suspected that going in and tried to be as prepared as we could going in.

But Becca, you can do the best job you possibly can, and you are still going to feel, from time to time, that you're not doing enough.  The first time Becca's Baby falls down and chips a tooth you're going to curse yourself for not putting foam rubber over your hardwood floors.  When you miss a swimming lesson because your experiment ran long, you're going to be heartbroken.  And when you are explaining to your advisor that Chapter 4 of your Thesis isn't done yet because Becca's Baby had a fever all week, you'll cry a little.  Frankly, no matter what happens or doesn't happen, or what you've done or failed to do, you'll always feel slightly inadequate because you are unable to fully serve two masters.  That sucks, but as the Dread Pirate Roberts taught us, "life is pain, highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something."

But here's the good news, Becca:  for all the feelings of inadequacy, all the worrying, all the mistakes and heartbreaks, it's totally worth it.  When Becca's Baby says his or her first science word, when Becca's Baby squeals your name with glee after you get home from laying down some hot, hot science, when Becca's Baby pulls you into the living room to dance to "You Ain't Nothin' But a Hound Dog," none of that other crap will matter.  As payment for all the headaches, you get moments that are absolutely perfect.  So perfect as to make everything else better.  So perfect that some days, you don't mind staying home late one morning and having to do a bunch of extra work later because Becca's Baby needs to sing "Five Little Monkeys" over and over and over again with you.   Because most people (and I believe this includes you even if you aren't sure, since you care enough to think deeply about the question), come to realize that, when they decide to start families, the child becomes intricately interwoven into the fabric of their own lives.  It's not that you need to alter your life to accommodate a kid.  It's that your life is fundamentally altered, and what happens to your child happens to you as well.

Did you formally discuss parenting work load with Mr. Isis prior to having Little Isis (and if so, did it help)?

Long before Dr. Isis and I started our family, we did, in fact, sit down and talk about how we saw our roles as parents, what we would be willing to do or to give up for our children, and how we wanted to interact with them.  Neither of us was entirely willing to give up their career (and, frankly, Dr. Isis shouldn't have been.  She's worked her freaking ass off to become Dr. Isis, and I think she should get to do whatever the hell she wants with that), but both of us realized that some sacrifice was going to be necessary to make this thing work.  When Little Isises (Ises?) became a realistic and attractive option, we had the conversation again.  And when Little Ises were imminent, we had the conversation again. And, believe it or not, we've had the conversation more than once since then.

What roles parents are going to play in their children's lives should be evaluated and reevaluated on a regular basis.  Because these roles and responsibilities can, and perhaps should, change over time.  I'm not ashamed that, at certain points, I've put my professional needs on hold to accommodate those of Dr. Isis and the Isis family unit.  I left a job when Dr. Isis came to MRU, and have spent time at home with the brood.  And Dr. Isis has been very clear about what requirements her job has, and how she can best contribute to the raising of our spawn.  And I try to be as accommodating as possible, understanding the pressures that we both are under as professionals, as writers, and as parents.  We generally take turns getting up at night, she does swimming lessons on Tuesday, and I get to go to choir practice on Thursday.  She tries to be home to make dinner every night, with the understanding that I can take care of things if need be.  I take care of the morning routine and transportation. 

So, yeah, these talks help, Becca, but don't be so naïve as to think that just because you've had The Talk the situation is resolved forever.  No parent knows exactly what to expect as they raise their kids, and where their priorities will shift and by how much.  Remain as flexible as possible in that regard, and open to new opportunities for both of you.  Nothing in parenting is ever static.