“what does a feminist mother look like?”: 1 of 2

Well, one of them looks a whole hell of a lot like me.

I’m a couple years late to the party, but all the same, in response to an old post on Blue Milk:

1. How would you describe your feminism in one sentence? When did you become a feminist? & 2. Was it before or after you became a mother?

I see gender as a socially-constructed system that supports various kinds of domination and subordination and deeply harms both women and men by placing us in limited, unfulfilling roles. The kind of feminism that interests me questions gender as a system as well as those other structures of domination and subordination, including heteronormativity, class structures, constructions of race, and so forth. (Okay; that’s two sentences. And there’s quite a lot more on the “Why ‘Feminist’?” page.

I don’t really know when I “became a feminist.” I was raised by my feminist parents and grandparents to believe unproblematically that girls and women are whole people; I was encouraged to think of my career and my education just as much as my brother was; for heaven’s sake, my (fantastic Southern and Catholic) grandma graduated from college early and had a fulfilling career right alongside raising my dad and aunt. On the other hand, I’m not sure I started identifying as a “feminist” until … embarrassingly … college or later? And–though it mattered to my politics and ethics much earlier–feminism only became central to my scholarship after I gave birth.

3. What has surprised you most about motherhood?

A) I much prefer “parenthood”; I don’t particularly think of myself as a “mother,” and “mothering” and “fathering” aren’t distinct activities in our family. B) Oh, geez, lots of things. I had no idea what I was getting into–I’d never changed a diaper or fed a baby! A few things: How romantic giving birth can be. How amazing breastfeeding feels when you’ve been away just a bit too long and finally have a chance to nurse again. The fact that my body is strong. The fact that I can keep gently taking care of someone who just made me cry (by head-butting me in the face; by keeping me awake all night; whatever). The fact that I could–absolutely without irony or a sense of humor–hand my perfect little baby to my partner the moment he walked in the door after a day away and announce, hightailing it out of the room, “I don’t want to touch it again today. At. All.” (And, yes, “it” refers to our child in that sentence.) The realization that I hadn’t been busy, before. The wonderful truth that it’s possible to breastfeed and write your dissertation simultaneously as long as you have a Boppy, a firm sofa, and a laptop. That I could become much closer with my partner than I had been. That parenting is 24/7. What it’s like to get profusely vomited on–while naked–when you hate vomit more than all the other icky things in the world combined. That if you’re really really sick and on your own, instead of taking care of yourself, you curl up in a ball on the floor but keep making sure your kid’s safe, even if he’s crawling all over you and you’re in tears. That we were right: cloth diapering is perfectly doable, and he would start using the toilet on his own if we didn’t push it, and we didn’t need a stroller if we didn’t want one, and people can parent differently from the norm and be just fine. That mortality scares me more, not less, now. That I’m a capable human being, not just a capable scholar and teacher. That my partner is the best parent I’ve ever seen. That three-year-olds can be really funny, not just I’m-humoring-you-because-you’re-a-child funny.

4. How has your feminism changed over time? What is the impact of motherhood on your feminism?

In short: I’ve radicalized. Click here for a longer version.

5. What makes your mothering feminist? How does your approach differ from a non-feminist mother’s? How does feminism impact upon your parenting?

That’s an interesting series of questions. I suppose our parenting is feminist in a quiet sort of way–our son says “he or she” without awkwardness and will sometimes call me on it if I say “he” or “she” without a reason for knowing someone’s gender, for instance. We model nonsexist language because that’s just how we talk and write. We’ve avoided highly-gendering clothes and toys and often let our child choose things himself. We’ve avoided television because so much of what’s on it is sexist, racist, classist, ableist. We answer the inevitable existential questions from our own feminist perspectives.