Parental Leave for Two

We were both photographers. He was more of a "free artist," while I focused on more commercial work. I handled the "pop" side of photography—wedding walks, children's photoshoots—while he created truly artistic works. He could dive into a project and produce a photo session inspired by the Dutch Golden Age, for instance. It was impressive, especially for Brest.

But artistic photography wasn’t something people in our city were willing to pay for. High art appeals to a niche audience, and you can’t build a sustainable livelihood on it. Meanwhile, I began transitioning to niches that were in demand.

At one point, I worked with preschools, negotiating with directors and photographing entire groups of children, then designing photo albums based on templates. It brought in decent money, and I knew the next preschool would bring similar results.

Over time, though, I realized that competition among photographers was too high, and prices were being driven down. So, I decided to switch careers and began studying software testing. It was tough at first. One time, after a class, I even fell asleep on the bus and ended up on the other side of the city. But six months later, I landed my first internship, and within a year, I secured a full-time position.

Feminism played an important role in my life. For me, equality between men and women isn’t just about rights but also responsibilities. That’s why it was crucial for me to earn a decent income.

Alexey (Lyosha) didn’t particularly like this. He even complained to some of our mutual friends about my views. For instance, he didn’t like that we took turns doing the dishes or that I expected us to share household duties equally.

When I turned thirty, Lyosha proposed. By then, we had been living together for three years. He got down on one knee and said, "Marry me." Marriage, of course, meant children—that was a given. So, I answered his question with a question: "Will you attend partner childbirth?" I wanted to establish upfront the kind of partnership I envisioned for parenting. He couldn’t give birth for me, but he could at least be there—and that was the minimum I wanted to discuss. He agreed, and I said yes too. (laughs)

We got married and started building our family nest. We’d been renting before, but with a baby on the way, we needed a two-bedroom apartment. We decided to look for a place outside the city. By that time, Lyosha had transitioned from artistic photography to retouching and was working remotely, as was I. So, nothing tied us to the city.

Buying an apartment in Brest was beyond our means, but Znamyenka offered more affordable options. My mom added $5,000 to our savings, we took a small loan, and we managed to buy a two-bedroom apartment there. Znamyenka had a good medical clinic, the Greenwood shopping center nearby, and a well-maintained road—just a 30-minute drive to the maternity hospital. It wasn’t any farther than Dubrovka would have been, considering the railroad crossings. Plus, in Znamyenka, you can always buy fresh eggs and milk from neighbors. The only downside was the coffee situation; we had to drive to the "Korona" store at the city entrance to stock up once a month.

By the eighth month of pregnancy, it was time to prepare for partner childbirth. Everywhere we went, people felt sorry for Lyosha. "Why doesn’t your wife protect you?" they asked. From the obstetrician to the pharmacist to the cashier we paid for the partner birth service (in Brest, it’s a paid option), everyone called him "poor" and me "cruel."

I was aware that some men find partner childbirth traumatic, so we came up with a password: "eggplant." We chose a word that wouldn’t come up in normal conversation. If Lyosha felt overwhelmed, he could say "eggplant" and leave. Or if I wanted him to leave, I’d use the same word. Honestly, I’ve since thought that if women could say "eggplant" and leave the man to give birth instead, it would be the most popular word in every maternity ward.

But I must say, Lyosha handled it all with dignity. He stayed by my side until the end and immediately stepped up as a dad. For him, our child wasn’t just a "puppy" you pat and admire before returning to your own life. Lyosha knew how to change a diaper, burp the baby after feeding, and handle colic. Honestly, I don’t know how I would’ve managed those sleepless nights alone. Rocking the baby 24/7 is impossible, but 12/7 with his help was bearable.

When Slava turned one, we sat down, did the math, and realized it would make more sense for me to return to work while Lyosha stayed home with the baby. I was on a steady salary, while he freelanced. So, we transferred parental leave to him, and he became Slava’s primary caregiver while I worked six-hour shifts.

Our neighbors weren’t ready for such rational decisions. Some moments were even funny. For example, when Slava was three months old, we bought a baby carrier and took a trip to Minsk to visit friends—I needed a break after the pregnancy. In Minsk, no one batted an eye when Lyosha carried the baby. But back in Brest, when we stopped by the store, people openly stared at this bearded man with a baby strapped to his chest.

When we got home and took a walk in our neighborhood, it felt like we were part of a performance. Passersby not only stared but also nudged each other to get a free look at this "spectacle."

Now Slava is two years old. I think it’s been incredibly beneficial for him to spend more time with his father than with me. I would’ve been more soft and coddling, but Lyosha finds the perfect balance with him—they never get on each other’s nerves.

As for our neighbors, let’s just say we have a mutual lack of understanding. They can’t fathom how a man can take care of a child, and we can’t fathom why only a woman should. I believe Slava has developed a strong and independent personality for a two-year-old, and I think that’s thanks to spending so much time with his dad.

When he turns three, we’ll enroll him in kindergarten and see how he compares to his peers.