Did She Just Call Me A Homemaker?

I often complain that I'm never included in any of these polls we so often hear about during an election year. It seems like those polls take place in some faraway hamlet on the other side of the country, involving folks living very different lives than me and my neighbors.

(Of course, since the current polls reflect my own political stance and party, I am not too peeved about all this right now. But when those polls reflect what seems to be totally foreign, I often question their accuracy. I know, not too fair on my part.)

So I was finally polled last night.

When I realized what was happening, I sat down with great enthusiasm and told The Polite Lady I had all the time in the world for her. My husband was bathing my daughter, and the nightly house sweep could wait. I was ready. Rock and poll, baby. Rock and poll.

We covered countless questions about my political affiliations, opinions and beliefs. It was all very interesting. I felt vindicated that I was finally being "represented" in some way in one of these surveys. Democracy in action, indeed.

When it came time for The Polite Lady to ask me what I do for a living, I didn't skip a beat. I told her I was a full-time mom right now, putting my teaching career on hold to raise my family.

Important Note: I've been working on this response ever since my daughter was born. It seems I've struggled quite a bit with my decision to stay home with my daughter. Let me clarify. I've actually never questioned my desire to be home with Stella. It feels right, and my husband and I have prepared for this financially for many years. We've been privileged and worked hard to make the choices we've made. I have, however, struggled with the judgment I sense from others when I tell them I am still "not working." Rather than delve into a defensive stance about all this, I'll just say when a neighbor recently asked me "What do you do all day long?" I took a deep breath, smiled and said "I spend all day keeping up with the most complex co-worker I've ever had in my life." Judgment be gone.

So there. I answered The Polite Lady without hesitation. I felt proud of myself. Even smug. Yeah, Katherine. That's one more step toward self-acceptance and all that is woo woo.

And then she said this:

Oh! So you're a homemaker!

It's almost like she had belched into the phone. I had no idea how to respond. I started to laugh. A homemaker? Me? Good heavens, no! I'm a feminist. I'm a liberal. I'm a radical. I'm a woman who stays at home to care for her child, cook dinner, look after the cats, pay the bills, clean the house, do the laundry....

Oh crap. I am a homemaker.

After gathering myself as best I could, I graciously answered the rest of The Polite Lady's questions and thanked her for calling me. Sweet, lefty liberal homemaker that I am.

But I couldn't shake this feeling that I'd been pummeled with a rabid insult. Don't get me wrong. The Polite Lady doled out this label with great admiration and kindness. She pronounced the word as if it were the most important job in the world. But it stung nonetheless.

I couldn't shake it.

So I asked my mother-in-law and good friend - both homemakers - what they thought of this title yesterday over tea. All three of our responses were visceral. It's as if many women who have chosen this path feel misrepresented by the very words our culture use to describe us. Why is this? What's the big deal?

I suspect it has something to do with being labeled in general. Because, as most of us intimately know, none of us are wholly or singly one identity. We come from multiple sources, and we live multiple lives. And no, I'm not talking about Sybil here.

My challenge with all of this is how I define myself. My choices sit well with me. I know in my heart that what I'm doing right now as a full-time mama is what I need and want to be doing, just like I know many of my mama friends who intellectually and emotionally need to work outside of the home. And yes, many must work. I'm acutely aware of my privilege as far as being able to make the choices I've made. Lucky mama, for sure.

But I still don't know what to call myself. I often use the term full-time mama, but that is problematic as well. It's not like working moms aren't exactly full-time. I imagine they think about and work for their kids all day long; it's just different. So I'm stuck using a variety of labels that don't really fit but sorta kinda communicate bits and pieces of who I am right now.

In talking and writing about this, I recognize I often find answers to my questions by imagining how I'll explain all this to Stella. I want to explain to her how we often label others (and ourselves) wrongly. That those labels can sometimes be helpful, but they can also be limiting. That it's important to make choices that make you happy regardless of what others think. That doing what you do with love, conviction and passion matters more than your preconceived notions of who you will or should become. Most importantly, that it is an absolute necessity to live your life without apology.