The Help That Never Came

At the start of the 2020 lockdown, we had a 3-year-old who needed near-constant supervision. My third grader, in public school, generally had about an hour’s worth of unchallenging remote lessons a day. We were grateful that our downstairs tenant, who lives alone and is a freelancer, agreed to share a bubble with us and provide 20 hours a week of child care in exchange for a break on rent.

My husband has a challenging job and makes more money than I do. He tries hard to be egalitarian. We divided up the direct hours of daily child care as equally as possible. But our relationship had subtle imbalances common among many straight couples.

For example, he had set up his home office, years before the pandemic, in the basement. He was literally insulated from the sounds of unhappy children. I had a small office for my public-radio work upstairs, next to the kids’ bedroom. No matter who was supposed to be on duty, my preschooler rattled the door or stormed in if I forgot to lock it, sometimes asking for a hug, sometimes in full meltdown mode. I know her voice came through at least once while I was live on air.

Before COVID-19, I managed the children’s schedules and planned their activities. I report on schools for a living, which provided some logic for why I was the one to research preschools and after-school programs and summer camps, to make spreadsheets and show up to parent-teacher conferences and PTA meetings.

My husband picked up relaxing, optional household tasks during the pandemic, perfecting his sourdough bread and kombucha. I did the grocery shopping, the meal planning,