Playground Pioneers

In the fall of 2005, I worked part–time and took care of my infant son for most of the day while my wife Olli Doo was at her job. We didn't have any family in the area, and we had lost most of our child–free friends, who wondered why we stopped coming to their fabulous parties. Communication between Olli and me was limited to reports on meals, naps, and diaper changes before one of us headed out the door to work. For the first time in 14 years together, we experienced serious strain in our relationship. Our son Liko was our main company, a diaper–clad bridge between her workplace and mine.

On sunny playgrounds I taught Liko to walk, his little fists clenched around my aching forefingers. Pushing a swing, I'd eye the mothers and they eyed me, or so I imagined. I was typically the only father. The moms seldom spoke to me and I was frankly afraid of them. I feared—it sounds ridiculous to admit—that if I initiated a real conversation, they'd think I was hitting on them. Deep in my bones, I felt that I didn't belong on weekday playgrounds. Not just because I was a dad; I didn't even feel like a parent, not then. I felt like a spy, an interloper, an anthropologist studying a lost tribe of stroller–pushing urban nomads.

In addition to our drooly, poopy, giggling baby boy, the main thing my wife and I shared during this period was our isolation. Yet in at least one respect, we had plenty of company: Research shows that most parents today face the same challenges we did. "Increasingly, new families are created far from grandparents, kin, and friends with babies the same age, leaving parents without the support of those who could share their experiences of the ups and downs of parenthood," write University of California, Berkeley, psychologists Philip Cowan and Carolyn Pape Cowan in the 2003 anthology All Our Families. "Most modern parents bring babies home to isolated dwellings where their neighbors are strangers."

The Cowans studied 200 nuclear families over two decades and found that today's parents face a range of challenges that earlier generations did not. In addition to the timeless problems of sleep deprivation, putting food on the table, and learning to take care of a baby—stressful all by themselves—the Cowans found that most husbands and wives with new babies come to feel isolated from each other—as well as their friends, families, and communities—and this isolation can harm their health, well–being, and marriages.

What's more, the Cowans found that "strained economic conditions and the shifting ideology about appropriate roles for mothers and fathers pose new challenges for these new pioneers, whose journey will lead them through unfamiliar terrain." In other words, not only are we geographically isolated from family and friends, but we're cut off from tradition as well: Modern conditions make it difficult—if not impossible—to emulate older family models, leaving us with few clear templates for what our families should look like.

In the Cowans's findings, I see my family and I see every family I know. But I've discovered that the isolation and pressures the Cowans describe are only half the story: Though we might live in isolated times, we are not condemned to lives of lonely desperation. Eventually, Olli and I overcame our isolation, and so did many of the families around us, building new lives, identities, and communities in the process.

As Richard Ross, a 47–year–old dad, once told me, "Sure, kids'll destroy your life. But don't worry: You'll get a new one."

Against the wall

"Through most of history," writes family historian Stephanie Coontz in her essay "How to Stay Married," "marriage was only one of many places where people cultivated long–term commitments. Neighbors, family, and friends have been equally important sources of emotional and practical support." She continues:

Today, we expect much more intimacy and support from our partners than in the past, but much less from everyone else. This puts a huge strain on the institution of marriage. When a couple's relationship is strong, a marriage can be more fulfilling than ever. But we often overload marriage by asking our partner to satisfy more needs than any one individual can possibly meet, and if our marriage falters, we have few emotional support systems to fall back on.