When pregnant for the first time I was excited. I was newly married, young(er) and things seemed hopeful. My expectations felt realistic–I knew their would be lots of crying and fighting and struggling–but having a family felt possible and meaningful. When I had my baby I was euphoric, vulnerable, suddenly acutely aware of the possibility of loss. It was a most joyous and heightened time.

But as a few months wore on, it slowly dawned on me that me and my stroller weren’t entirely welcome in the world. When my husband and I were exhausted from sleepless nights, or we couldn’t easily travel somewhere or meet for dinner, we were reminded of “our choice” to have kids. (You made your snotty kid-filled bed, now (don’t) sleep in it.)

This relatively new sense that having children is a choice (and perhaps a selfish one) is one of the many reasons Jennifer Senior considers in her New York magazine cover story for why parents are so miserable these days. It’s not entirely new territory, but Senior did a fine job summarizing the situation at hand; I read it with a heavy heart. Though it’s all endlessly nuanced and complicated, I do think the ongoing parental blues of modern mom and modern dad can be traced to one main source: parents are not treated very well in this country.

There’s no village. We’re expected to do a ludicrous amount. We’re not meant to do all this in isolation, but many of us are isolated. We have to find and hire the equivalent of an extended family.  It’s not just about work or not working, it’s about the fact that “family friendly” in America basically consists of a Happy Meal.

Seriously, when you hear “family-friendly,”  what do you think of? Here’s what comes to my mind: Plastic furniture. Soon-to-be-recalled, lead-filled Toy Story 3 fast food cups. The loud, incessant dinging of video games and mediocre rock-and-roll.

In Sweden the buses have a large area right up front that can fit three Bugaboo strollers. For six years I have been hauling a toddler-stuffed MacLaren up subways stairs, metal frame digging into my quivering forearm muscle.  In Europe kids travel half-price.  In America, when passengers see a parent boarding the plane with two kids they shudder and avert their eyes. I’ve heard the waiters in Italy play with your baby while you eat in a restaurant. In Melbourne, parents have cappuccinos, toddlers have “Babyccinos.”  Here we’re shunted off to Chuck E. Cheese for a sodium high. I know I am joining many others who romanticize family life abroad  and I’m sure I’m off base. After all, no one is having kids in Europe anymore despite all the stroller-friendly buses and cheap airline tickets.

But what I’d like to think of when I hear “family-friendly” is the following: Quality, affordable daycare. Paid Leave. Less home work. Discounted tickets. Real food in schools. Places to change diapers. Support for women to breastfeed in public. Less advertising crap. An across-the-board understanding that 2 to 5 year olds like to “run around.”

If we had some real support and a real feeling that someone out there valued our work and contribution, maybe the endless lunch-packing and sneaker-finding wouldn’t be so bad?

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