Turning the Tide: A Letter from the Editor
Day Care
Krista Jacob

Today is one of those days from which mountainous feelings of mother-guilt and self-blame are built. And it's only 10am.

It begins with a routine trip to my son's daycare, "kid's school" as he proudly calls it. Despite the fact that this has been a consistent nine-month routine, at least once a week, in the spirit of a true budding revolutionary, he stages a protest.

Today his behavior would have made Che Guevara proud.

As I carry him into his classroom, he braces himself: he wraps his short legs firmly around my waist; his small hands tightly grip my shirt collar; and he presses his nose hard against my neck. As I begin to lean forward to set him down, he whispers hoarsely, "I want to go home, mama" as if it's a secret shared only between us. I want to ease the mounting tension, maintain the calm before the storm, so I sit on the floor, cradle him, and reassure him that I will come back, just like every other time; and that he will have fun with his friends and teachers, and that he will read books, and play outside, and do all of things he loves so much.

I gingerly untangle myself from his grip, hand him to his favorite teacher, and quickly head out the door. As I pass the door's threshold, I hear a fierce exclamation of rage. I quickly turn and see my son, in the grips of a full-blown temper tantrum, writhing and screaming as the teacher struggles to simultaneously calm him and protect herself from flailing arms and legs. Through a storm of tears and choking sobs, I hear him demand, over and over again: "I want my mama right now!" He says it so fast and for so long that it becomes an indistinguishable string of partial and missing words: Wanmymama!

I feel sick to my stomach because I know I should reassure him and make a quick exit, but my emotions tell me to pick him up and get right back in my mini-van. So I settle on a reasonable (loosely defined) compromise: I sneak around to the side of the building and surreptitiously watch him through his classroom window.

Standing there, I am a picture: leaning forward on my tiptoes, craning my neck so that I can see without being seen, watching my little boy exclaim, to no one in particular and yet to anyone who will listen, that he wants his mommy. Presumably, in response to seeing a piece of my contorted face desperately peering through a Barney covered curtain, a teacher pats his back, acknowledges his sadness and offers a few indecipherable words of what I assume to be comfort. My cynical side tells me that the teacher's efforts are nothing more than a well-honed attempt to mollify a heart-broken mother on the edge of madness (what a spectacle I must have been!); and the apparent emptiness of her actions leaves me feeling distrustful of these women with whom I've entrusted his care and well-being. (For now, it doesn't matter that in a few days I realize the teachers are guilty of nothing more than being easy targets of my anguish masked as anger and distrust.)

I'm not usually prone to masochistic behaviors nor am I a mother on a mission to martyr myself through whatever kind of pain and suffering I can dig up. I'm fully aware that the currency of martyrdom is sometimes all we unpaid mothers have. But my decision to stay behind, rather, is guided by an interest in how long it will take him to adjust; and perhaps more truthfully (and somewhat selfishly), I want my mother guilt assuaged. I'm desperate to see my son, like so many of the other times I've taken him to day care, excitedly playing with others in his toddler posse and tearing around with the cars and trucks I was sure he'd never like. But today, I have no such luck and my guilt morphs into grief.

My flexed legs begin to ache, my lip throbs from nervous gnawing, and the mixture of tears and mascara bitterly stings my eyes. I decide to leave; and, really, should have done so much sooner because my last morning image of him is much more poignant than his angry tantrum: my little boy, now reclined against a book case, with tears silently streaming down his disheartened face, looks completely dejected. His sadness scratches an empty trail across my heart.

Unlike many women, I don't have a mother who can offer comfort and advice as I navigate through the troubled terrain of motherhood (this moment would be nicely accompanied by an orchestra of violins), and I don't dare call my mother-in-law for support since a few in my partner's family have used my choice to both work and parent as further proof that their son/brother made a poor choice in marrying a feminist. On a day like today, feminist politics and common sense aside, a battle about whether or not I have the "right" to pursue interests beyond my mother role feels insurmountable. Two minutes into a phone conversation sounding something like, "Staying at home with your child would be so much better for him…" would undoubtedly have sent me on a Jessica Lynch style rescue mission.

So here I sit, grief stricken and guilty, writing the "Letter from the Editor" initially intended to address reproductive freedom, third wave feminist politics and the war in Iraq. Today, however, I can't get past the personal to talk about the political.

Did my feminist predecessors, the ones who battled gender, race, and class oppression so that I could have more opportunities, ever imagine my situation? Did they think that women like me could be stronger in conquering these challenges?

A quick call from Joanna, a righteous friend and mother, and I am back on track. I nurse my feelings of guilt and I quiet the voice that tells me I'm selfish for wanting more than what motherhood and home life have to offer. I realize that feminist progress doesn't exist in isolation, growing in a kind of cultural petri dish of sorts, but is instead shaped and mitigated by oppression and backlash. Two steps forward, three - and sometimes three and a half - steps back.

So my difficult morning illuminates brilliantly a cultural tide that needs turning. And it is up to our generation - both mothers and fathers alike - to do it.

What Can We Do?

We must include a more humane definition of motherhood in our political agenda, one that is not fraught with cultural contradictions that tell us we can "have it all" while, at the same time, shame, vilify, and scapegoat those of us who pursue professional interests. We are blamed for our ambition when our children rebel as adolescents, when caretakers abuse our children, and when the teen pregnancy rate increases (which, incidentally, has decreased as has the teen abortion rate). Unfulfilled mothers are not more capable mothers…on the contrary.

Our feminist foremothers gave us legal abortion, however waning this right may be, but our generation needs to make motherhood something a self-respecting, creative, talented woman would want to choose. We must challenge views, in all of their forms, which dictate that motherhood should be nothing more than the emptying of a woman's soul, the complete suppression of her professional goals and her private aspirations. We must expect nothing less than equally shared responsibility from our partners (for those of us who have them), be they men or women, and they must expect nothing less of themselves.

And as with all political work, the seeds of change are first planted in our own backyard. We must check our own harsh judgments of one another's personal choices as they relate to reproduction and parenthood. Some women will choose motherhood, some will not. Some women will work outside of the home, some will not. But, we will all struggle with these weighted choices within the context of our own situations. Despite our commonalities, the circumstances of each situation are unique; for example, due to economic reasons, not all women get to choose whether or not they work outside of the home.

Building from the grassroots up, our activism should progress to the levels of legislative reform and a complete revolution in cultural expectations and beliefs about motherhood. It is high time our society recognizes that the unpaid work of mothers (or fathers) has economic and social value and should be rewarded as such. How about giving us mothers a (tax) break? Or, better yet, something that facilitates financial independence, like a living wage? If our society truly valued motherhood, it would not be the single greatest risk factor for poverty in old age, which it is.

So my letter from the editor is more personal than usual, but nonetheless as political as ever. We hope that you enjoy this issue of Sexing the Political with its wide range of topics related to women's sexuality. As always, please send comments, questions and feedback to sexingthepolitical.

Krista Jacob Editor-in-chief and Founder Sexing the Political

For more information on motherhood (the politicized kind), please visit: MOTHERS (Mothers Ought To Have Equal Rights)
Mothers & More: The Network for Sequencing Mothers
Good Ol' Hipmama

What would we mamas do without these fabulous women? Looking for political magazines about motherhood?
Brain Child: The Magazine for Thinking Mothers
Hip Mama Zine

Krista Jacob, MS, is editor-in-chief and founder of Sexing the Political: A journal of third wave feminists on sexuality. She has a long history of involvement in women’s issues, including domestic violence, sexual assault, reproductive freedom, and women’s health and sexuality. She presents at state and national conferences on issues related to violence against women, third wave feminism, motherhood, images of women in the media, abortion, and adolescent women's issues. At present, she is a writer and lecturer.

Ms. Jacob’s written work has appeared in Just Sex: Students Rewrite the Rules on Sex, Violence, Activism, and Equality, (Rowman & Littlefield), The Minnesota Women's Press, and numerous feminist journals. She is the editor of Our Choices, Our Lives: Unapologetic Writings on Abortion.

Recently, Ms. Jacob was given the Humanitarian Award for Outstanding Alumni from Minnesota State University, Mankato.

If you would like to inquire about bringing Ms. Jacob to speak in your community or to set up an interview, please contact sexingthepolitical.

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