the next battle

JCA writes passionately about something I think about a lot these days: motherhood and career.

Halfway through last semester, my employment discrimination professor brought in a guest professor to speak to us about gender discrimination in the workplace. At the time I was almost three months pregnant and trying to adjust to pregnancy and the rather enthusiastic hormonal mix that had taken hold of my emotions.

The guest professor, who specializes in gender discrimination, spoke about stereotype studies and women in the workplace. The professor described studies in which participants were asked to rate the intelligence of various fictional characters in an effort to determine the pervasiveness of gender stereotypes. The good news reflects JCA's experience: the fictional professional woman with no children had a perceived intelligence and capacity almost equal to that of the fictional professional man. (No study showed the man and woman exactly equal, but they were extremely close.)

However, once the woman was turned into a mother – but her described characteristics did not otherwise change – her perceived intelligence dropped precipitously. In one entirely depressing study, the fictional woman with children was slotted into the same intelligence stereotype category as the the physically handicapped, the blind, and the very old, groups that themselves suffer from horrendously bad publicity as far as perceived capacity. There was only one poor group that consistently rated lower in perceived intelligence: stay-at-home mothers.

I almost started crying in class.

There is so much to love right now. I love being pregnant, watching my body change, my husband's transformation into a father. I love this new little person kicking around inside me ferociously.

But I hate the stifling societal straitjackets that come with parenthood. I hate that no matter what choices my husband and I make, a large segment of society will continually question those choices. I hate the fact that I even have to worry about this, that these outdated stereotypes will affect my life, my husband's life, and my son's life.

On the other hand, the best choices I've made in my life have always been those made in contravention to popular and uncreative wisdom. I didn't cry that day, and since that class, I've come to secretly relish the people who sniff mournfully and disapprovingly, "I would never do that!" I respond politely, but I think, "I'm sure you wouldn't." And I smile.