Being a Feminist Mommy

My mother-in-law was pleased when my husband and I announced that I would be staying home with our son. She was also surprised. "I thought, " she said to my husband, "that it went against everything she believes in."

A staunch feminist since the age of three (when I announced to my family that I would be a clown when I grew up since there were so few women clowns in the world), I always knew I would be a mommy. For much of my journey to motherhood, I was sure that I would also have a career.

At sixteen I told my mother that I thought that women who chose to be housewives in this age of enlightenment were stupid. Furious, she told me, "You just remember, young lady, when you're out at your job that it's those women who will be going to PTA meetings and keeping an eye on the neighborhood to keep your kid safe." Chastened, this was my first step in realizing that being at home with her children was a woman's right and privilege and that it was only a trap when the decision was forced upon her.

After time spent working in the field of early childhood education, I discovered that putting my future child in the hands of someone besides his or her parents would simply not be an option for me. My then fiancee told me that he felt it was my decision to make. Fast forward ten years later and here I am at home with my son, financially dependent on my spouse and watching more daytime t.v. than is good for me.

Outwardly, my life looks a lot like my mother's when her children were small. Hanging diapers up on the line; cutting the crusts off of sandwiches; wiping sticky fingerprints from the fridge. The similarities may be obvious but it's the differences that matter:

--I am home by choice. --My mother didn't have a choice.

--I blow off the housework so that I can spend my meager spare time on building a career as a writer. --She had an immaculate house and a gnawing feeling that she wanted more.

--I have a husband who respects my role as mother and writer-to-be. --She had a husband who wanted to know where in the hell she put his socks.

--I often whine to my husband about how hard I work for which I am rewarded with a foot massage.

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