When D and I first met it was a pretty large experience. I tried my best to screw it up in my own special way, but even I was aware of how crazy it would be to not spend the largest amount of time as possible with this person.

Some of the things I did with him are funny to look back on. At the time, they were meaningless, but it was as if I had some sort of relationship godmother making sure I took the right steps to show exactly who I was and what I wanted to be.

One of those steps was putting a copy of Germaine Greer's "The Madwoman's Underclothes" in his pack before he left for home. I don't remember why I did this. I wasn't thinking, "You must know that I will not be a SAHM" or "I do not care if you have clean socks and a prepared lunch every morning". I didn't even think he needed to know my stance on underwear or pornography. Yet, the book meant something I think. It meant I wanted him to think and be aware that there was more to me than the small amount of time we had so far to get to know each other.

No matter what you may think of this Greer and whether she could even hold a candle to the likes of more prominent feminists, this time in my life, when I knew (and was scared) that I had met someone I would love very deeply, is what I thought of when I heard that Betty Friedan had died today.

I am married. I am a wife. I have a son. However, I am married to a man who sees me, not a wife. I have a son who has tea parties with his dinosaurs. I work fulltime and study at university. I will be the bread-winner in the house come September and no one bats an eye at this decision. I think it would be safe to say, I am growing to my full human capacities.

Also, I'm happy. I think much of that has to do with Betty.
So, I just wanted to say thanks.