Before leaving her car, Nadia does one last check of her dress and scrubs away what is probably baby drool (she hopes) with a baby wipe recycled from the glove compartment. She’s been awake since 3.12am. The baby is slightly under the weather and she’s dosed him up with Calpol before delivering him to her mother-in-law and hearing his grizzle rising to a howl of despair and betrayal that served to make the parting feel a bit like having a limb sawn off.
Her MiL sends her a photo three minutes later, showing him playing happily in the ball pit, making her feel relieved and also making her wonder just how early the skills of emotional manipulation are developed in humans.
Nadia doesn’t have much time to wonder. The school day quickly sweeps her up, up and away. There are exams to coordinate and missing books to track down (she definitely had them yesterday), and there is also a stressed-out teacher to reassure over an upcoming observation.
Nadia works full-time in her hard-won middle-leadership role. She worked hard before becoming a mother to build up her experience and credibility and is proud to have been given this piece of, still relatively new, responsibility. Her parents are supportive but aren’t very good at hiding their growing concerns. “You look tired.” ”Are you sure you’re looking after yourself?” Nadia doesn’t have much time to reassure them. The baby needs feeding and the house looks like a post-nuclear apocalypse.
“But it goes so fast!” her mother told her during a treasured family summer holiday as Nadia held her baby on a North Devon beach. Ten years down the line, will Nadia reflect on the solid truth of those words as her son’s feet reach the size of her own and she struggles to grapple with his French homework? And will she have any regrets? She hopes not. Time is a funny old thing.
The struggle of being a teacher-parent
No group is so supportive and potentially so divisive as a group of new parents. The friends she made through the time of early sleepless nights and her overturned sense of who she was will remain friends for decades down the line. The judgements will stay with her, too. The young parents who spoke of "taking a couple of years out", as if this were a choice everyone had; for Nadia, the household income relies on her bringing in a decent salary.
There are the fellow new parents who carry Gina Ford books around like Bibles and speak to her much as she would a recalcitrant Year 9 child when they tell her to "show the child who’s boss". Nadia knows who’s boss, and it’s not her – or her partner. And that’s just fine. It’s an admission she’s come to terms with. But to sacrifice her hard-won career, despite the clear disapproval of some of her peers, less so.
She’d like to think there’s another way – a middle ground; but she hasn’t got much time for reflection these days. She loves her job. She loves her family. And yet she spends too much time feeling that she’s not doing either properly. A few of her fellow new parents, not teachers like her, have negotiated contracts that involve working from home – and being with their children – a couple of days a week. She can’t quite grasp how this works, but is fiendishly jealous. Her colleague asked to go part-time a couple of years ago, but the request was denied on the grounds that she couldn’t reasonably fulfil her role with any time off. Nadia is very tired and doesn’t feel she has the time or energy to put her head above the parapet.
There are so many things about being back at work that she relishes: the ability to actually make coffee (if not drink it!); the ability to finish and tick off an actual task. The feeling of adding value, being useful, making a difference in the world. Something else has happened: Nadia has always been devoted to her students, but now they are somebody’s child, just like her own. She regards parents at parents’ evening, even the struggling ones, with a new admiration – they are streets ahead of her! – and resists the temptation to ask them how the hell she’ll begin to negotiate potty training. She asks herself if what her school delivers would be good enough for her child. She puts her limited energy into refining her practice according to this new mantra.
Nadia doesn’t have time for faffing about – darn, is she efficient these days! There’s no choice but to be at the childminder's by 5.15pm; no choice but to prioritise the care of the baby over a quick check of school emails or some casual marking in front of EastEnders.
There are the less glamorous elements. Nadia has to make time to express milk once a day. The school is duty-bound to find her a private place to do so. She was left with a choice between the staff toilet and her line-manager’s office, but, after accidentally lactating in front of her Year 9 class the other day, it’s a price she’s prepared to pay. Nadia hasn’t got time to argue.
Nadia hasn’t got time to worry about what the next months and years will bring. She’s putting one step in front of the other and doing her best. Would Nadia’s role suffer if she were to go to four days a week – or even three? Can her family finances withstand it? Will someone in the leadership team see through her quiet determination and suggest that this might be an option? Will she be brave one day and ask? I do hope so. The profession really needs Nadia at the moment.
Dr Emma Kell is a secondary teacher in north-east London and author of How to Survive in Teaching
