Feminists Wearing Babies

I thought about writing last year when the news came out about Trump proclaiming he “grabbed ‘em by the p***y.”

I thought about writing last year when Trump won the electoral college votes to become president elect of the United States.

I thought about writing last week, I thought about writing yesterday, but I didn’t have the words.

But today I have the words. Today I joined my sisters in a rally of peace, strength, and power. But most importantly, I marched with my daughters.

They are still babies, really. Still so impressionable and susceptible of their surroundings. Regardless of all the work I do to make sure they see and hear things that will teach them how to take care of themselves, how to build up their worth, how they can do anything they want, or be anything they want, realistically they are old enough that they will remember a time when Trump was president.

These, their formidable years, have the potential to be shaped by media surrounding a misogynistic, xenophobic President of the United States.

It is a scary time for the parents of daughters, just like it is a scary time for my LGBTQ, black, disabled, and Muslim friends, and anyone else who is different than the mold.

But today. Today was powerful. Today we gathered to fill a space much bigger than our own. We had the opportunity to sing with our sisters and cheer with our feminist brothers.

I got to bring my daughters to a space full of fire, power, and strength, regardless of our estrogen and our breasts. They got to see women standing with women and men standing with women and people having the power to stand up and say that this is not okay and be heard.

They may not have understood the meaning of the speeches or been able to read the signs but they were there, they were numbers, they were strong and fierce girls standing with strong and fierce women.

After I had my oldest daughter, I decided to stay home to raise her. It was a bit of an identity crisis for me, being such a generally busy person who loved her job but I did it because I wanted to and I was lucky enough to have the choice to do so.

During that first year, my best friend sent me an article about how you can be a stay at home mom and a feminist at the same time (and of course you can!) and stated that I was one of her feminist heroes.

Me. A feminist hero.

I didn’t see it. Feminist, sure, but I didn’t see how I was, in any way, someone to be looked up to for my views and opinions on equality. I had never fought or rallied or written letters or made signs or protested.

But now I see it. It’s not just my life I’m fighting for, it’s theirs. It’s in my views and my lessons, it’s in teaching consent to a toddler and speaking to them like their are human beings who understand me rather than little kids who need to be spoken down to. It’s about respect.

My mom told me today that she thought Trump was going to challenge people. That he was going to challenge them to discover where they really stood, what they really thought, who they really were.

While I disagreed with her, as we boarded the ferry full of women in p***y hats to get to the Women’s March on Washington in our city, she pointed out that maybe he had started a movement, maybe he was a catalyst for our loud, outspoken, international sisterhood. And maybe he has.

Maybe it has ignited a fire. Maybe we’ve taken notice enough to bring out our children and sing and shout and yell.

Maybe I can be a stay at home mom and a feminist hero to little eyes. Maybe you can be exactly what you are and also be a feminist hero.

Maybe we can be the Emily Murphys, the Nellie McClungs, the Simone de Beauvoirs, the Sojourner Truths of our generation, even if only to a few people.

So. use this to take action, use this to decide what you will do, use this to be a feminist hero to someone in your life.

And, if you need me, you’ll find me over here with the feminists wearing babies.