Sigh. Here we go again.
People are currently in an uproar over a photo of a mother breastfeeding her daughter taken while at her college graduation. 25-year-old Karlesha Thurman posted the photo to the Black Women Do Breastfeed Facebook page, which reposted it for her, and it quickly went viral. Many people were shocked and appalled at what they saw.
Here’s what I saw. I saw a woman who managed to make it through an undergrad program with a young baby and still managed to figure out a way to breastfeed. I saw a woman who is also a mom and a student doing her thing and being proud of it. I saw someone normalizing something that should already be seen as “normal” in our society, but sadly isn’t. Keep reading »
Childbirth is a miracle. It’s a miracle that I intend to experience (hypothetically, in the distant future, maybe) with an epidural and as many pain-numbing drugs as they’ll give me.
Some moms-to-be go the other extreme: giving birth outdoors, literally on the floor of the fuckin’ woods, sans a doctor. And because this is America, there’s a new Lifetime reality show about them called “Born In The Wild.” Keep reading »
I’ve been out of the country for the past two weeks, spending almost the entirety of that time in Israel. Along the way, I’ve learned some interesting things about taking an extended global trip while parenting.
Contrary to what you might think, there are some pretty sweet perks to traveling with a child. I made the trip out to Israel with just my son and while there are some challenges traveling as a solo parent, I also noticed some up sides. People tended to treat us with more patience and kindness then when I travel solo (and I do, often). We bypassed regular TSA security to go in the fast lane, where shoes blissfully remain on and you don’t need to take out laptops or toiletries. We were also allowed to board first if we wanted to, we got meals served to us earlier, and there were more smiles and less scowls from airline employees — although perhaps this is just an Air France thing? They were pushing the free booze … Keep reading »
I am a mother of sons. I do not have any daughters. I recognize that it is a cultural norm to pierce women’s ears, especially young girls as infants. If I had a daughter, you better believe I would carry her right into Claire’s Boutique and pop a few shiny gold studs into her baby ears. I’ve also toyed with the idea of piercing both of my sons’ ears, but unfortunately, ‘N Sync caused that trend to crash and burn for men in the late ’90s. I’m mostly kidding, but I still don’t consider piercing a baby’s ears, regardless of gender, to be child abuse. Read more on The Gloss…
It must had been in third grade that my daughter Ella was assigned a project for Black History Month. She was assigned Maya Angelou.
I was unaware of how this selection would impact my view of being a feminist mom.
We eagerly trekked to the public library to check out children’s books on Angelou. I expected the usual broad view on Angelou’s life illustrated by cute watercolors — not so much a whitewash of Angelou’s life, but one that would be generally acceptable for elementary children to read. As with any revolutionary figure, the book would have to deal with racism and discrimination. What I had not planned on was the book, if not both, to deal head on with Angelou’s rape at the age of eight by her mother’s boyfriend. Keep reading »
A few months ago, I was having a rough time with my son. This is not unusual, as he is going through a particularly ornery stage and I am stubborn as a mule who is really good at yelling but not much else in the discipline realm. I ended up calling my parents for backup, and put them on the phone with my son as I stood in the bathroom listening to the conversation. Most of it was great. My dad was telling my son that he needs to listen to me because I’m the Mom and I have his best interests at heart and all that. But then! Then he told my son that he needed to change his behavior because he is “the man of the house,” and I “need” him to take care of me and our home. And that’s when I almost punched a hole through the wall. Keep reading »