Lately I've really been struggling with my identity as a feminist. Am I one? And if I'm not, am I supposed to be? Is it a bad thing? I mean, I certainly don't identify with the women out there who wouldn't vote (and apparently didn't) for Hillary not b/c they disagree with her politics, but rather b/c they feel the White House is no place for a woman. I can't stand those women. Then I have guilt about not standing them, since they're women and I'm a woman. I believe in Women's Rights. I believe things could be and should be better. I don't like to see women being objectified. But at the same time, there are a lot of women out there that get on my last damn nerve; that I relate to about as much as I relate to a Tibetan Monk. I just wanna say to them, "Who are you? And why are you the way that you are?" This is something I struggle with. The truth is that I have instincts that tell me that other women are my competition. I don't know if those instincts are biological, or sociological, but they're there. If you look better than me, then you must not be as smart as me. If you're smarter than me, then your personality must suck. If you've got a great personality, then you must be unattractive. Because if you look better than me, are smarter than me, AND have a great personality...I hate your guts. I don't want you around me or my friends, or any guy I find even remotely attractive--even if I'm currently unavailable to that guy. I don't want him to know that YOU exist. You old thunder stealer!
This is a very dark side of the fairer gender.
Then there are other times I wanna look out for other women. I want to talk to and confide in other women. I want to stick up for other women. Sometimes I even get a little Gloria Aldridge: "Tell me what he did to you Sister. Not only will I believe you, but I'll make sure everyone else does, even if the evidence suggest otherwise."
Sometimes I'm so hyper-sensitive about my gender, that I read into things, or take offense when none was intended. This happened last night. I was at a friend's with another friend hanging out and sharing some Prosecco and a little gossip. It was a girl's night. After a couple of hours her doorbell rings. It's a neighbor. He's had a few beers and his pregnant wife's hormones are a little more than he can handle so he decided to stop in and say Hi. During the course of casual conversation the subject of having twins came up. My one friend said it might be convenient, you know, having them all at once. My other friend who's a new mom said Hell No to all that. I bent each of my elbows up under my breast simulating having to hold two babies at the same time. "No free arms!" I point out. "How would you feed them?" "That's why you have two boobs!" a deep voice from behind me proclaims. Ugh. Really? You're hanging out with three women in their thirties on a Friday night while your pregnant wife is at home bellyaching about her swollen feet and you want us to know we have two tits so we can breastfeed two babies at the same time? I wasn't having it. The femi-nazi in me shoved the girl who laughs too hard at lame jokes told by hot guys aside and took over. I gave him a good glare, followed by a pronounced rolling of the eyes. Then, THEN, he starts talking about how he wishes he could be the one that stayed home with the baby all day while his wife went to work. But since he makes more money than she does it just wouldn't make sense. At this point I open my mouth. "You don't get it...It IS work...You're not a woman...You have NO idea, you're a GUY!" (dum, dum, dum). All the while I'm thinking "Oh! His poor wife!" My friends are silent. They tell the guy he's going to make a good dad. It's obvious they are trying to compensate for the tongue-lashing I just gave him. I start to wonder whose side they're on? OK, NO, I'm not a mom, but I know it's hard work. I know better than HE does, that's for sure. Fortunately the topic of conversation changes. Unfortunately, we moved on to politics. I wasn't having any of his conspiracy theory "Obama's running mate choice is being debated among white supremacists who are trying to figure out who they like enough to be President after they shoot him" bullshit. Finally he decided it was time to go home.
Then the shitty part came. Apparently, this guy's a real ace; does all the housework, the yardwork, runs all the errands, cooks all the food, etc, etc. Apparently, he's really excited about being a Dad and would, most likely, do a better job of taking care of his tot than his wife would. Oops. Guess I better take my eye-mask and my cape with the insignia of a giant tampon on the back of it off.
So, Mr. Nice Guy, if you're out there--I'm sorry, it was the estrogen talking.
1 comment:
well, don't feel too bad!!! i have a great husband who cooks dinner each night, washes dishes, etc, but seriously, this pregnancy was all about my body! there is nothing that a man can do to that i know of that compares with what i just i went through. even the little fact that my breasts produce milk and his don't make a huge difference in our lifestyles. i have to be near the kid when he gets hungry or plan ahead and pump but jed is free to be out and about without concern that someone else's life depends on being with them. also after going through a trying pregnancy, 25 hours of labor, and a blood transfusion, i had to immediately be ready to take care of a newborn. i can talk for hours about this subject. take home message: staying home with a baby is harder than working and because women make babies and milk, we have more responsibility.
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