society column

Baby on the Way? Organise Day Care First, Then the Ultrasound

Being pregnant is life-changing, no matter what, but where you are pregnant really matters. Dutch journalist Anouk van Kampen, living in Belgium, explores the differences in maternity care, traditions, and childcare between the two neighbouring countries. What once seemed obvious turns out to be shaped by culture.

During my house-hunting period (far easier in Belgium) and the months of a strict COVID lockdown (much stricter in Belgium), it’s especially when major changes occur that I realise how much impact moving to another country can have, with having a child standing out as particularly significant.

A friend of mine in the Netherlands is at the same stage of pregnancy, and even though we live in neighbouring countries, our experiences are completely different. In Belgium, selecting godparents for a child is common; in the Netherlands, including a bank account number on a birth certificate for gifts is not done. In Belgium, people who come to visit are served cava; in the Netherlands, they are offered crisp toast with muisjes (tiny sugared anise candies). In the Netherlands, women are not automatically screened for gestational diabetes, and in Belgium, most women continue working right up until a week before giving birth.

My friend hasn’t seen a doctor during this entire period. Follow-up appointments are done by a midwife, whereas I could find my way to my gynaecologist’s office in my sleep. Approximately 14 percent of women in the Netherlands give birth at home, whereas in Belgium it’s only 0.7 percent. In the Netherlands, you may not always be sure if your hospital of choice will have room, but for me, I’ve known from the beginning exactly where I’m going.

The first thing a pregnant woman does

The one thing that wasn’t decided yet, and did cause stress, was what came next: childcare. The first thing that a pregnant woman does after a positive test in Flanders is not visit the doctor, tell her parents, or daydream about the future. No, it’s putting your name down for a day care spot and wishing for a spot that exists only on paper for now.

Over the past few years, I’ve been reading professionally about the numerous problems, including staff shortages, budget constraints, and limited availability of resources. Experiencing these challenges personally is a whole different story. Yet the entire system gives the impression that everything will turn out fine. Enrolment is handled by a central point that oversees all day care facilities and registered caregivers in my municipality. We provide our preferred date and other preferences, and nine months before the start, we will determine if a spot is available.

In hindsight, the worried tone everyone used when asking if we had arranged childcare might have been a sign. First, there was no spot available three months after the birth (a little early, admittedly), then four months (we could manage), and then five months (what do your parents think about full-time babysitting?), and still no spot available. That’s when panic set in. Only at that point did it become clear that the central office couldn’t say anything about our spot on the waiting list, how long we’d have to wait, or what our chances were. Here’s how most people deal with this: calling or visiting each childcare centre individually.

We went from being critical and selective to almost-parents who were just happy if we could both keep working. The first two day care centres enthusiastically and without irony said they would have a spot available in September 2026—by then, the child would already be a year old. Only after visiting a day care where, after having a good conversation, we were put on a “recommendation list”, did we hear that a spot had opened up. I’d be ashamed if I didn’t feel so relieved.

Privatised day care

There are approximately 93,000 childcare spots in Flanders, wrote the magazine Knack in the article ‘Why grandparents will have to care for their grandchildren for many years to come.’  That is 30,000 too few. Apart from the grandparents, it’s mostly one other person who pays the price: in 90 percent of cases, the mother, who works less or stops working altogether. The last government allocated an extra 370 million, and the current government is adding another 200 million in the hope of creating ten thousand additional spots. In reality, the number of spots has gone down over the past years. Spots require staff, and there aren’t enough yet. An estimated 2 billion would be needed.

I started daydreaming about the Dutch way these things are done, where you can actually choose a day care you feel confident leaving your child at. However, my friends face a different problem: they’ve secured a spot, but now they have to make sure they can afford it.

In contrast to Belgium, childcare in the Netherlands is privatised, and most day care centres operate to make a profit. We pay around 30 euros per day; in the Netherlands, the government only reimburses up to 10,70 euros per hour, and some day cares charge more than that. Families with lower incomes are reimbursed for most of the costs through benefits, whereas those with higher incomes may pay in full and end up spending a large portion of their income on childcare. Many parents cut back on day care days, work less, or – there they are again – rely on their grandparents. None of my friends sends their child to day care four or five days a week, and nowhere in Europe do children attend day care as little as in the Netherlands.

Whether the promise of the – now demissionary –  government to make childcare free will ever be realised remains to be seen. In the meantime, we’d be better off seeking a solution outside the Low Countries.

• childcare
• pregnancy