I am a feminist. I believe firmly that a woman’s “place” is wherever she wants and needs to be. (I wish very much that we lived in a world where that were possible for all women). I also believe that happy (reasonably) well-adjusted parents make happy, (reasonably) well adjusted children, regardless of whether those parents work outside or inside of the home. So why is it that I find it so difficult to answer the question: “What do you do for a living?” I find it equally distressing to respond to the ever present: “So, when are you going back to work?”
o there I was…about to sit down for some lunch with my father, step-mother, Ranger and The Kids. Ranger and Big J were wrestling in the living room when Big J shrieked with laughter, “Daaadddy, you hit me in my penis!”
I’ve been having a very difficult time trying to marry my feminist ideals with my thoughts on what a mother should do, and I have a lot of hang-ups about whether or not I’m making enough sacrifices for my daughter.
The hardest part of being a mother is trying to be a mother. Let me clarify: The hardest part of being a mother is trying to be the mother everyone tells you you must be.
The first social reality of which I ever became aware was that my mother was the most embarrassing person on the entire planet. She dressed loudly, spoke louder, and seemed never to have heard of make-up. She was a rebel with many causes and wouldn’t allow my sister or me to escape any of them.