The Finnish Baby Box: Giving birth in a country that actually likes me
I spent my 20s in Brooklyn paying off student debt, anxious about tenuous healthcare, and losing faith in American politics.
What I did not spend my 20s doing was thinking about babies. In fact, any idea in the back of my mind that I might one day reproduce only grew smaller and smaller every time I heard a right-wing politician say the phrase “family values.”
But then I moved to Finland.
Immediately, I could tell family life is different here. It’s obvious by simply walking around and noticing significantly more dads walking around with strollers, likely on paternity leave. When colleagues of mine left for parental leave, there was no aura of guilt or anxiety around it, only celebration. And it is normal to meet women with high-power positions who have still taken years of leave to start a family.
The idea of having a family of my own suddenly seemed possible in a way it never had before.
When my Finnish partner and I decided we wanted to start trying for a baby, we at least had to discuss if moving back to the U.S. should be considered. It was a shamefully imbalanced comparison. In addition to extensive parental leave, free prenatal care, free pediatric care, and excellent daycares — my child and I actually had a statistically better chance of surviving just by our choice to give birth in a Finnish hospital. It wasn’t a very long deliberation.
Despite all of this, when I got pregnant and those pregnancy hormones were coursing through my body, my decision to give birth in a foreign country became suddenly real and a lot scarier. I know I am incredibly fortunate to have the choice of where to give birth, let alone one of those choices being Finland. But I still lamented over how far my family and lifelong friends were during a time when I needed them most. My anxiety built as my belly grew and the due date loomed closer.
And then the famous Finnish baby box arrived in the mail.
In case you don’t know what this box is, it was created in 1938 by the Finnish government and has helped Finland to achieve one of the world’s lowest infant mortality rates. It includes clothing for all the seasons of the baby’s first year of life, accessories like nail scissors and a bath thermometer, and postpartum supplies. And remarkably, there is a mattress on the bottom so the actual box can be used as a bassinet. All babies born in Finland who are a part of the national healthcare system are eligible and it has become a beloved tradition for Finnish families.
Of course, receiving the infamous government-issued care package didn’t solve all my anxieties. But when I opened the brightly colored lid and saw it filled to the brim with items for my first yet-to-be-born baby, I cried in relief.
Yes, it saved us money from having to buy these things ourselves, but it wasn’t about that. It represented so much more. Every item is picked with thought and purpose. All the clothing is designed beautifully and sourced ethically. The box itself meant that if for some reason the worst happened and we couldn’t afford a crib, our baby would still have a safe place to sleep. It went above and beyond to make our time with our newborn not only safe but joyful. I suddenly felt secure during the most vulnerable time of my life in a way that I knew my own country would never have been able to do. I had understood Finland’s social systems on a logical level, but receiving the box was the first time I viscerally felt what it meant. I realized that Finland actually gave a damn about me and my child.
I don’t share my experience with the baby box to claim that other places like the U.S. should adopt it. In fact, the idea of enacting an American baby box is absolutely ridiculous before paid parental leave rights exist on a federal level, something Finland has had since the 1960s (and maternity leave since 1917). And in the context of legislation that enslaves bodies to give birth against their will, a baby box suddenly becomes extremely sinister. Instead, I share my experience because the longer I live in Finland, the more I understand just how sickening the lack of care for families in the U.S. is.
The immense sacrifices a birthing person makes to have a child is exacerbated by the U.S. rather than eased. A sacred event that could be surrounded with joy and celebration instead comes with punishments; debt, loss of financial independence, no resources to heal a body pushed to the limit, an expectation to do everything alone, and a complete lack of bodily autonomy if difficult decisions need to be made. Now imagine if the government had women and parents in mind and even considered ways to enhance their lives specifically.
Well, it turns out we don’t need to imagine it. It exists and they do things like include breastfeeding nipple pads in a care package for your baby. It’s like dating someone who treats you like a human after being in a relationship with an incel your entire life.
My daughter is now 5 months old, and to my delight, Finland really seems to like her too. We leave her appointments at Neuvola (the government healthcare from pregnancy until the child is 7 years old) with notes on her health record about how cute she is. She wakes up every day to me being able to spend the day with her while on paid parental leave. We feel cared for constantly by the institutions around us because we share the same goal, to raise a healthy and happy child.
There will come a time when she is older and as a dual citizen, will be able to choose where she lives. My deepest hope is that the U.S. will have learned to treat its people better by that time. But at least I know she will have higher standards than I ever did because she grew up in Finland, a country that actually treats its people as if they like them.
