The Sling Diaries, Volume VII. A photo-documentary chronicling the art of baby wearing in the lives of families around the world. Over the course of six months, Sling Diarists will create their own Sling Diary though a series of diary entries interpreting a unique theme given to them each month.
Meet all of our Sling Diarists here.
When I was a little girl I had this really amazing world view, my life goal by the 6th grade was to become the first woman president of the United States.
I’m serious, I wrote a paper on it and got an A, my teacher had me say it in front of the class and at the end I was shaking and crying and had to leave out of nervousness and excitement, and I remember his face being so proud. I’ll never forget his face, so proud and so supportive. Then life happened and men weren’t so supportive anymore, a guidance counselor touching my ass, a boss telling me to take my tits out, a boyfriend who didn’t tell me we were in an open relationship (my nice way of putting it that he cheated on me furiously, like a rabbit in heat) and I took on some sort of warped view of feminism.
Molding myself silently and unknowingly to become the woman men wanted to hear, men were comfortable with, because I had nothing scary to say that made them rethink their actions.
Then I had a son, and I remember thinking I never wanted this little perfect boy to grow up and slap a woman on the ass and laugh it off, and I started to speak up slowly again, to teach him consent, as I watched a breathing Cheeto threaten to move into the Oval Office I began to get angry. Women’s rights were at stake and all of a sudden the things I could push under the rug as not so important to me because they had felt protected, became threatened.
I met my now fiancé, the first thing I said to him after he asked for my phone number was “don’t send me any dick pics”, he looked shocked by this, and I was shocked that it came out of my mouth but in that moment I realized I had reclaimed my voice. Then I became pregnant with our daughter, and I became scared and I knew that if I didn’t speak up, I was just another woman without a voice, a number, a fish in the sea if you will and I didn’t want that. I wanted my son and daughter to know the difference between right and wrong and understand basic human rights. I didn’t want them to be haunted by thoughts of groping hands and unsolicited kisses, I didn’t want them to ever think no meant maybe, I wanted them to be raised in a home where consent was the final word. I found my voice again so that they could find theirs.