As a Feminist Mother

I still haven't got the "writing every day" thing sorted, which may be related to having no readers at all, and being ambivalent about how to get them. Now, that's a girlzone dilemma if ever I've seen one, given that that's related to blowing your own trumpet, confidently asserting your right to be heard, and networking like crazy. Still, I've worked out how to be assertive and confident of skills etc for years now in the workplace, and even academically in another context, so perhaps it's just the whole issue of working things out here as a parent, as a carer for a child with a disability, with no real "expertise" and with limited time for reading, theorising and contextualising what I'm doing.

And there I was thinking I'd grown out of apologising for existing.

I was also delighted to discover this sassy and opinionated blog, Bluemilk , on being a feminist mother, then had a slight crisis about whether describing another woman as "psychomum" was very feminist. Well, it probably wasn't very NICE, but I decided to justify myself on the grounds that my objections of her were decidedly feminist in any case, given the way they centred upon "competitive victimhood" and some very strange labelling of the self. Not to mention dodgy tones and a whole lotta self-righteousness.

I'll get back to righteousness later, because it interests me hugely.

But I think I'll stick to feminism. I"m luckier than many, I think -- and yes, luck is a dominant narrative trope for me -- as I've seen myself as a feminist for literally as long as I can remember. I've never had to fight it, resist it, be in any way ashamed of it. I have five sisters, the oldest of whom -- 14 years older than me -- was a 70s feminist who influenced my child self quite strongly. In addition, as one of seven in a working class family, I had a very impressive mother, and the self-consciousness of belonging to a "clever" family, where education was central and where we were strongly encouraged to succeed and not to see limits. Not that we didn't have the usual range of family alliances and misalliances, irritations and misunderstandings. But it did mean ideas, creativity, independence, and a strong belief in women and what they could do was inculcated.

And I really wish my parents had lived long enough to meet my little girl. They would have been confronted, I think, by all the things she won't be able to do, but they would also have been so positive and encouraging about all the things she could.

Interestingly, Abe and I had a bit of a run-in over potential and development and progress over the weekend. Our girl has to learn about cause-and-effect, and we have to be very deliberate about it. One of the reasons it doesn't come "easily" or "naturally" to her is because it's physically very difficult for her to have an effect on anything. Press here, and watch the jack-in-the-box jump up! Touch this lever and the dinosaur pops out of the egg! Nope, she doesn't have the strength to do that. But this perception is connected in a more abstract way to language development, communication skills, as well as to progression in physical stuff.

So anyway, we've been lent this completley mad "switch toy" (as they're called) to try to encourage M to develop these skills. There's a big yellow button with a fairly soft mechanism, and when you press it this completely bizarre blue creature blows up from the base and sings dementedly. I'd been showing her this, to a combination of utter bemusement and delight, in her special chair that gives her full spport etc etc. We got sick of that after a while and I put her on the floor, which is not as good for her developmentally (she doesn't have to "work" so hard), but it does mean she can roll around a bit and check things out. I was doing something else, when I heard the "beeeee-baarrrgh" thing start to sing, and so I said with some pleasure, "oh look, Abe, she made the thing work herself".

To which he immediately replied, rather quellingly, "She probably just hit it accidentally".

And so, cue music, I slightly lost it. Suggested that what was needed was a bit of optimistic hopefullness, a sense of potential, otherwise we'd never survive; and that him thinking that she'd never be able to do anything didn't relaly help. Sob, hiccough, etc. With some righteous anger thrown in.

Anyway, we recovered from that and got on with the day.

Then, the next day, His Nibs had clearly been thinking about all this, and he could not have been more encouraging, positive, or helpful. I nearly ruined it by beginning to analyse it and asking him to "talk about it", then decided that nothing kills a bit of thought-through-spontaneity (you know what I mean) than hammering the point home too many times. M anticipated the soaking she was about to get, when she was placed in her new super-dooper shower chair, on hearing the shower coming on, and got upset BEFORE she got wet. Great, he said, that shows a new depth of understanding. Squirming and protesting before the eye-drops were put in? What a clever girl!

And so on.

Now really, you have to laugh. And I'll concede, too, that he teaches me things about living in the world, and living with our girl, continually too . . .

Comments

[Virginia Harris]

Hey,

Someone is reading - me! Keep writing!

I'm taking this opportunity to toot the horn of a group of great ladies from our not too distant past.

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[Virginia Harris]

I live near an amazing center in Philadelphia that helps children with disabilities develop - I want to share their web address just in case you'd like to look into it...

It's called The Institute for the Achievement of Human Potential.

They have an amazing educational program for parents of children who need extra assistance to develop to their greatest potential.

They keep a fairly low profile, so most people have never heard of them, but I have personally taken their classes, and I found their approach extraordinarily effective, encouraging and enjoyable.

Best to you and your family.

http://www.iahp.org/