Feminism Goes Down in a Hail of Blazing Cornflakes

So French feminist Elisabeth Badinter is bemoaning the new generation of mothers who are breastfeeding for six months, making jam, baking bread and generally cosying up with their babes.
Could it be that she has never experienced the ecstasy of cradling a newborn in her arms, who she alone has had the power to grow and expel into the world and nourish, aided only by a timely bit of male intervention and a packet of folic acid capsules?
I cannot think of a fellow mother of small children who has not breathed a secret sigh of relief at the opportunity to temporarily escape the hamster wheel of office slog and corporate oneupmanship. How a woman whose brain has been temporarily addled with love-hormones is supposed to carry on as usual anyway is quite beyond me. Do they have stand-in brains, like stunt doubles in Hollywood?
In any case, the spectre of ‘proper job’ guilt lurks wherever we turn, whether in sanctimonious newspaper comments about women with PhDs in Particle Physics washing cloth nappies and putting their brains out to pasture, or the snide remarks of friends who ‘have to earn a living’ about women taking time off (haha) to raise their babies themselves.
True, few of us are supported well enough to do it. But the luxury of having all those slimy kisses and adorable puddles on the carpet to yourself is balanced by the intensity, the sheer endlessness of the work involved. Mothers are lay nurses, educators, comedians, timekeepers and diplomats, capable of dancing between cooking pots, nappy changes, phone calls and tax returns with the precision and agility of a Chinese contortionist.
What started as a much-needed push for female empowerment has degenerated into an excuse for women to judge and condemn others for exercising their democratic right to spend their days getting covered in glitter, making sock puppets and scraping lentil soup off the walls.
What greater joy is there than those precious first years when your youngster melts you with her attempts at yoga, or his assaults on local plantlife, and is all too soon slamming the bedroom door in your face and turning up Marilyn Manson really loud?
But the modern status quo faces a new challenger. An army is amassing behind washing lines everywhere, readying themselves with bowls of soggy cereal and lumps of dried snot and taking aim at the women hollering for testicles transplants on the NHS. ‘Neo-con feminism shall go down in a hail of blazing cornflakes!’ cry these valiant soldiers, albeit in a garbled pig Latin that regrettably comes out sounding like ‘bubba did a poo-poo’.
And each time we, their lieutenants, pick a dried oat of their ear, or avoid being hit by a paper plate full of lunch being used as a frisbee, we shall remember with pride how it is the fruits of our wombs that are leading this revolution. When they’re not smearing ketchup into our skirts.

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2 thoughts on “Feminism Goes Down in a Hail of Blazing Cornflakes

  1. You go girl! So very painfully true…how did it become un-cool to nurture our own children? How did it become cool to pay someone else to do it? As a child who was looked after by nannies from 1 years old, I now realize the message that I received over and over again, every time a nanny left, “I tell you I love you but I will leave you at a moments notice and never see you again.” Not healthy! xxxxxx

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