As a child, my mother used to dress me in these awful plaid dresses. It was the late 80s—I  guess they were in or something, but I always came home with them torn from climbing fences, or dirty from playing on the ground. Though when she was that age, she too had to wear dresses, she did raise me to believe that I could be anything, anyone, I wanted, no matter what. She even bought me all the Ninja Turtles I wanted, and tolerated it when I threw my Barbie Dolls into the trees behind our house (that hair really makes them stick to the branches!). So why the "dress" code?

I think as a society there are just so many things we don't think of as being examples of emphasized femininity but once they're pointed out, we simply say, "Oh." Case in point: I used to be a relief manager for a major fast food company. We were instructed to always say "Sir" or "Ma'am." I often had people come through the drive-thru who could be either—or neither—or both. What were you supposed to say to the stubble-sporting, pink-nailpolish wearing customer? Or the plumber called "Earl" by his buddies who had breasts bigger than my own? I took to simply saying, "Have a nice day," to everyone, which lost me points in my evaluations and was one of the many reasons why I left that job. 

People used to complain that I wouldn’t be a suitable wife because my significant other swept the floor better than I did and cooked better than I did—as if these were my life-defining roles. I've done some cool things in my life; I've taught at-risk kids in Spain, debated four semesters over various parts of the country, been to loads of national conventions for various groups, been pretty politically active (including attending the March for Women's Lives in 2004), sang solo performances, become the editor of a rapidly-growing nonprofit website before I'd even finished my bachelor's degree—and even accidentally flashed the Lincoln Memorial.

It's not that I think I deserve kudos or anything, but none of these things seemed to impress people at all. BUT when I got pregnant (still single), everyone couldn't stop gushing. Suddenly I was everyone's favorite person, so accomplished, so important! Um, hello? I remember feeling so angry last summer and telling my best friend, "Anyone can get pregnant! I haven't even given birth yet and suddenly I'm Cleopatra! But nothing else I've done has ever merited a, ‘Hey, nice job there,’ or ‘Wow, I'm mildly interested in what you've done!’" She laughed and said, "What do you expect? It's a baby."