On Womanhood

Published in edited form in The Foothills Sun-Gazette May 15, 2013

     "Well, I restored my womanhood this morning," my mom said during our Mother's Day phone call.  "I finally put out a bowl of milk for the mama cat.  She was staring at my patio door...."

     She went on with her story, which actually started last fall when the kittens from last year's litter threatened to overtake Mom's house.  Her only means of dealing with the situation was to stop feeding them.  The cat and kittens disappeared, but this spring the mama cat came back to support herself while feeding this year's batch.  I could feel Mom's relief:  when push comes to shove, she'd share the last of her milk rather than see that other mother suffer.

     Last year I was shocked that she could take away the food, but I was too far away to help find another solution.  I've compromised my household year after year by feeding, fixing and finding homes for kittens brought to my porch by those mothers I've fed, and sometimes I've made decisions like Mom's, closing my heart-eyes to their lost well-being that I allowed to happen.

     But telling those stories feels as embarrassing as getting pregnant unwed and giving the child up for adoption, a self-demotion of our womanhood defined by maternity.  And why?  Most men would not feel their identity threatened by an action taken or not taken on this small scale.  I say "most," because I know a man who decided to feed a kitten though he was unemployed.  Watching him struggle with the choice induced me to write a poem about it.  But this kind of embarrassment belongs, for the most part, to the realm of womanhood.  At least, that's where it's been assigned.

     It was wonderful working at the market this past weekend. Friday was Mother's Day in Mexico, so our customers started wishing us cashiers (who are almost entirely women,) "Feliz Dia de las Madres" early.  The well-wishing worked its magic on us, and we began wishing all the mothers who came through our checkstands the same.  I wished happiness on many of the men, too, which embarrassed some that I might have my Spanish upside down.  But the day is for remembering our mothers, and everyone who ever walked had one, so why not?  We've all been blessed with life thanks to those women who carried our embryos to term, some at great risk to their lives.  It's an important recognition.

     "Quantos ninos tiene?" women asked me.  "Do you have children?" some men queried cautiously.  "Nada," I answered incorrectly to the women, "no" to the men.  I have various answers for the raised eyebrows silently asking "why," but the truth is my fears of having children and not being able to support them never were outweighed by the desire.  And there, my friends, you have it.

     "You have to work on Mother's Day?" some customers sympathized.  "You have to eat," I responded gently, pointing to their groceries, "and so do I," smiling.  "And if I took the day off, some other mother would have to take my shift, and that wouldn't be fair...." They nodded, comprehending, as they pushed their carts out the door.

     The best part of these short conversations was the recognition of our womanhood and the contributions we make with our small-scale decisions.  It was a blessing to be working at RN Market this past weekend. Thank you, customers.  And here is the poem I wrote for Ross, who tends to buy his box of macaroni and cheese and can of cat foot about two minutes before closing.

When Times Are Hard  -- for Ross

This is how it's done
when times are hard:

when the speedometer goes
you don't get it fixed, but
shift to another mechanism
for gauging speed:  other vehicles
and your own judgment how you'd dodge
sudden obstructions.

When the computer crashes
you borrow the one at the library,
shifting your schedule to make
use of your resources
away from home.

And when a starving kitten
arrives at your door, you
feed it, knowing just as well
it could be you.

tmw  6/3/2011
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Trudy Wischemann is a journeyman cashier who writes. You can send her your stories of restored womanhood to P.O. Box 1374, Lindsay CA  93247 or leave a comment below.