Originally published at The New Statesman
Bodies matter. Bodies that eat, sleep, care, nurse, love and, yes, gestate. The world, and the sexism that pervades it, doesn’t make sense without them.
The first thing you should know is, I’m not like all the others. I’m not like all those women you see babbling at the playground gates, or in cafés, babes in arms, drifting mindlessly through the day, brains turned to mush due to sleeplessness, hormones and lattes.
I’m not one of the yummy mummies, smugly superior, or one of the earth mothers, slavishly devoted to their own little cult. I’m a person first, a mother second and female third, if at all.
That, at least, is how I used to think, through divisions, carefully analysing which parts of my life would render me most worthy of the status “full human being”.