Last week, Belgium’s Jérémy Doku flew home from the World Cup to be at the birth of his first child. His federation supported him. A prominent French sports broadcaster did not — calling childbirth a “disgusting moment” and saying fathers are useless at birth, just there to hold a hand and take a photo. She later apologized. But the conversation it sparked is worth paying attention to, and frankly, our internal Slack channel was lit up with more than just angry emojis. Birth, and what comes after it, is still treated by much of the world as something to manage around, an inconvenience.
Doku made that trip on his own terms, with no policy behind him — and he’s not alone in that. Across professional sports, fathers make this call individually, absorbing whatever fallout comes. In the U.S., MLB is the only major league to have written paternity leave into its rules at all. Three days. The NFL, NBA, and NHL leave it to players and teams to work out case by case. Last year, NBA star Rudy Gobert missed a playoff game to be at the birth of his first child and faced the same public debate Doku is facing now. Nothing has changed because nothing structural has changed.
There are exceptions worth naming. The LA Dodgers, three time world series champion, have built a culture where showing up for your family isn’t questioned — consistently supporting players who step away to be present for the birth of their children. Manager Dave Roberts recently said the shift towards players prioritizing family, including paternity leave, is simply “healthy”. The Dodgers have also put those values into action off the field— donating to 4th Trimester, and volunteering along side our team. That’s what it looks like when an organization understands that postpartum matters and acts on it.
For women, the stakes have been even higher
For decades, female athletes have been told — explicitly, contractually — that pregnancy makes them a liability. Allyson Felix asked her sponsor for basic pregnancy protections, was offered a 70% pay cut instead, and had to go public, break her NDA, and testify before Congress just to change the conversation. [Source] Serena Williams returned from childbirth to find the ranking system had dropped her from world No. 1 to No. 453, despite nearly dying from complications her doctors initially dismissed. [Source] Kate Markgraf received a call three weeks after giving birth to twins telling her her national team contract wouldn’t be renewed — and rather than sue, used that moment to force a permanent policy protecting every USWNT mother who came after her. [Source]
If this is what the fight looks like at the top — for women with platforms, legal teams, and global visibility — what does it look like for the families we serve every day?
No contract protections. No federation statement. No viral moment. Just a new mother trying to heal, feed her baby, and keep her family housed. A father who just wants to be present without it costing him his paycheck. Because when we penalize him for showing up, what we’re really saying is that her experience — birth, recovery, the fourth trimester — was never worth showing up for. Systems that were never built with either of them in mind.
That’s why 4th Trimester exists. We show up the way Doku showed up — because presence matters. Because the postpartum period is not a pause in life. It is life, in one of its most demanding and vulnerable forms. And nobody should have to navigate it alone, or fight to be seen in it.
If you believe that too, consider making a gift today. Every dollar goes directly toward supporting postpartum families in Los Angeles who need it most.
