First Person

If You're Happy and You Know It

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By David Latessa

A year has passed since my wife's corporate relocation uprooted our family from New Haven, Conn., and dropped us in Westfield, N.J. It's been a year, too, since I not so reluctantly left my job as a financial-aid administrator at Yale University to take on the new role as a temporary stay-at-home dad.

The time that I have spent at home with my daughter has been invaluable for me, and, I'm confident, for her as well. Sophie has transformed before my eyes from a beautiful baby to an engaging 18-month-old little girl. We have established a bond during our time together that seems to grow stronger by the day. And while every day is not a walk in the park, we do enjoy a walk in the park nearly every day.

While Sophie and I have thrived together, I have struggled personally with the professional repercussions of my decision. In the brightest moments, I view my time at home as an opportunity for reflection on the many routes available to me at my present crossroads. In the darkest, however, the routes all seem blocked, leaving me secluded on a dead end, unwilling to reverse and unprepared to forge ahead.

Ask me the typical cocktail-party question, "What do you do?" and I'll answer in enough time for you to down two martinis. I'll talk about my stint as a temporary stay-at-home dad, speak at length about my passion for writing, mention my experience in campus administration, and sum up with my interest in exploring teaching and possibly even advertising.

And if you dare proceed to ask about my job search, you will likely find yourself staring into an empty glass as I rant about my limited time and penchant for procrastination, about the impenetrable market for fiction writers and the bureaucratic obstacles to teacher certification.

The question that you should ask about my job search is this: "Looking hard or hardly looking?"

The correct answer is hardly looking. Truth be told, my job search has been more of a passive pursuit than an active hunt. I have expended more energy looking for Sophie's misplaced toys than I have sending out résumés. And while balls and little Mickey Mouse figures often hide underneath the couch, I have yet to find a job there.

Time, or lack thereof, certainly bears some of the blame, but there must be more than just the same old standby excuse to blame for my lackluster job search. Could it be that I have already found the perfect job for now? And if so, a year after leaving a job that was far from perfect, why do I insist on defining my current role as temporary and qualifying it with unnecessary explanation?

It is true that my current job as a stay-at-home parent has many of the qualities I would look for in an ideal position. I am challenged, I have many opportunities to learn and be creative, I feel passionately about my work, I am making a difference, and I get frequent and immediate feedback. The absence of a paycheck is an obvious negative, but the nonmonetary rewards add up to more than fair compensation.

While I cherish my benefits package of hugs and smiles, I also realize that Sophie's displays of affection cannot buy tangible goods like diapers and groceries. Once a carefree consumer, the transition from a double-income, no-kids household to a single income with kid family has tightened my purse strings and transformed me into an obsessive coupon cutter.

Over the past year, our family budget has bent plenty, but my wife's direct deposit every two weeks has been enough to keep us and the bill collectors happy. Still, relying on someone else, even your partner, for financial support takes some getting used to. As a well-functioning team, my wife and I have different roles, but just as she may get upset about spending too much time at work, I can feel guilty about not contributing to our family's financial bottom line.

It is hardly chauvinistic pride; it's a husband and father's desire to do as much for his family as he can. Still, I must admit that pride has tried to prevent my mind from completely wrapping itself around my role at home. In my college alumni magazine, I read about classmates progressing impressively on their career paths, and my competitive streak can't help wondering about my potential to do the same.

Try as I might, I find it difficult to completely discard the fact that titles and paychecks are often how the world judges intelligence and success. It would be easy for me to say that I never think that way, but I believe that, whether we admit it or not, human nature forces us to measure ourselves against others.

And speaking of comparing myself to others, where are all the other stay-at-home dads? I hear and read about fathers staying home while their spouses go to work, but I have to wonder where those dads have been hiding over the past year. The playground is full of moms and nannies who sometimes react to me suspiciously, as if I am a slick pick-up artist with a cute kid in tow trying to impress them with my sensitivity.

Admiring my cute daughter, salespeople and bystanders have innocently and kindly asked me, "Are you giving Mom a day off?" And most books and commercials assume that Mom, whether she be a bear, bird, or human, must be the primary caregiver. While I can laugh off such harmless reverse sexism, I will admit that it sometimes feels curious to be a man at home with a child.

Having been reacquainted with Sesame Street as an adult, I recognize that there are many lessons to learn from the show and many characters whose examples we should follow. Perhaps I should derive some inspiration from Maria, the ageless Sesame Street resident who happily toils away repairing the neighborhood's broken appliances. Maria seems unconcerned with money, status, or performing a job that many might assume would be done by someone of the opposite sex. Why so many Sesame Street toasters are on the fritz is another matter entirely, but Maria clearly enjoys her work, and the people and monsters in the neighborhood all look up to her as successful and intelligent.

Like Maria, I love my job; her toasters are my Sophie. Although I may spin my wheels about money, success, and how I am perceived at the playground, I still can safely assert that being a stay-at-home father is the best job I have ever had. I consider it a privilege to spend my days with my daughter and appreciate the support, in all its forms, that my wife provides to make our situation work.

While I may never completely dispel all of my conflicted feelings, parenthood has reinforced for me that life's bottom line is hardly about dollars, competition, or appearances. It may have taken a year, but I stand ready to shed the "temporary" tag and state proudly and without reservation that I am a stay-at-home parent.

With my return to the work force inevitable but not imminent, I intend to enjoy my days with Sophie, write more for the sake of writing and less for publication, and slowly, without guilt or pressure, consider what I might like to be when Sophie and I grow up.