The Poverty of Stay at Home Motherhood
How America views my choice to raise my kids my way.
I’ve been on the receiving end of a fair share of low blow comments since becoming a mother. This includes my brother-in-law commenting, “Well, whatever you do, just don’t homeschool your kid,” when my first son was in his fourth month of gestation in my womb. The well known truth of motherhood is that from the minute you announce your pregnancy you leave yourself open to all forms of commentary about your motherhood. This commentary ranges from well-wishes to nagging advice. No matter where it lands on the spectrum you’re supposed to receive it with grace and a smile on your face, because that’s what we’ve come to expect of mothers (thank you, Hallmark).
Let’s just say that when my husband and I decided that I’d stay home to raise our children during their formative years we knew we’d be rocking the cultural boat. I had no idea, however, that I’d be so counterculture that I’d only meet a handful of women in my same situation over the course of five years; that I’d often feel like the only mother left in a post-apocalyptic dreamworld where my kids and I had the run of the town park on most weekdays; that 90% of the other stay-at-home moms I met would be best classified as the “walking wounded” of our time. Most of all, I had no idea that certain members of my own family would so deeply disapprove of my choice.
I’ll be honest and say that no one, at least not before now, has come out with a downright mean comment about my role as a stay at home mother. There have been plenty of nudges and gross questioning of my judgement at times. But the comment I received a few days ago takes the cake. According to at least one member of my family, I am “raising my children in poverty.”
Where do I start? Let’s just clarify that I live a perfectly normal suburban middle class lifestyle in which we pay our bills and do just fine. Unlike those experiencing true poverty we are not suffering economic woes (thank you G-d). So now that we’re clear on that, what exactly does “poverty” mean in the context of this comment?
It means I don’t work.
It means my sons (ages 5 and 2) don’t attend summer camp, private school or daycare.
It means my husband is the sole economic provider for our family.
In other words, it means we go against the norm. Our kids aren’t spoiled rotten, stuck in front of expensive screens, or better socialized with peers than they are with their own parents.
That’s really the truth of it. I can’t help but wonder if the person who delivered this comment (and quickly realized the error of their ways by the look on my face) ever stopped to consider how little time they’d be spending with my sons if I did work? How often do folks get to see the little children of family members who spend all week working and all weekend catching up on the life they missed all week?
The “poverty” of stay at home motherhood has been thrown at me before. By this same person, no less, convinced that when my younger son was born, my oldest should be quickly packed off to daycare so he could, “Have his own life with friends.” At the age of 3. THREE. When I didn’t follow this moronic advice I was the terrible mother depriving her three year old of…wild parties in daycare? Yet, I wonder if this person ever stops to consider that my boys’ rock solid relationship has been cultivated over the course of two years not spent living separate lives?
My children are well spoken with vocabularies beyond their age. They are mannerly, love adult company and treat their elders with age-appropriate respect. They are curious about everything and never stop asking questions. They eat well, sleep well and can sustain play with each other for hours when they latch onto an interest. All of this is evidence of the contentment in themselves and the world around them. Contentment, I’d argue, that wouldn’t exist if I weren’t here to facilitate the environment from which it has sprung.
“Every day I can go to work knowing you’re taking care of the kids and they’re safe and happy,” my husband will often remark with gratitude. Children and parents who are content: such is the gift of stay at home motherhood. The only people who can possibly view such a gift and the goodness that comes with it as impoverishment are, themselves, living in poverty.
The insult isn’t mine alone to carry. The assertion that stay at home motherhood is an impoverished lifestyle burdens every woman with the implication it carries. It asserts that women who choose to stay home are the secular equivalent of nuns taking vows before locking themselves away in convents, forever to remain alien to the world around them. It also asserts that women must, therefore, choose to disavow themselves from the bonds of motherhood as much as possible in order to be deemed of value. The myth of the impoverished stay at home mother is nothing more than another reiteration of the second wave feminist claim that in order to validate her existence a woman must suppress her biology. If the pill doesn’t work and you don’t have the guts to get the abortion, dump the kid in daycare and be done with it so you can get back to doing something useful.
What a robotic society we have become to propagate such antiquated, ass-backwards thinking. What a terrifying society we live in when we feel free to assert that mothers who stay home to care for their young children are impoverished. “What sorrow for those who say that evil is good and good is evil, that dark is light and light is dark, that bitter is sweet and sweet is bitter.” Sorrow, indeed. I will have none of it. Never has “get thee to a nunnery” sounded so good.
