Why are there only two images of stay at home mums? Pie-baking…

I was a feminist in Grade 4 when Tony W said the vampire in the play had to be a boy. He was my first bite.

I was a feminist when my first sleazy boss told me I was looking pretty and svelte. I told him my brain was quite large and unattractive.

I was a feminist when I chose to travel with my husband’s career because it was not only financially logical, it was my choice. Our choice. There was a choice. I like choices, you could call me pro choice.

I was a feminist when I stood in the kitchen barefoot in my pajamas and waved my husband off to work while I fed the children breakfast. You can do that, be a feminist in your pajamas with a baby over your shoulder.

I was a feminist when I returned to the office. I used to ring my feminist friends who were thankfully not at the office to ask for help. We were all feminists together, helping each other out.

I was a feminist when I heard you use the term  “just a Stay at Home Mum”. An offended feminist.

I was a feminist when I talked to my boys about being good men, and again with my girls on remaining strong and equal. That’s called an active feminist.

… or ironing.

Feminism arrives in many forms and presents itself at different stages of our careers.

The Stay at Home mother you’re judging today, may well be back “at work” next week, or not. We get to choose, that’s what it’s all about, that’s how it started. We asked for choices.

Feminists are clever like that.

Kirsty Rice is an Australian writer and Blogger currently living in Qatar. This piece was originally published on her blog, which you can find here. You can follow Kirsty on Twitter here

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