Meri Perra blogs about the challenges she and her partner face in trying to raise their girls with feminist values
My stepfather, Cec, was born in the 1930s, the first of three kids to a family in small town Ontario. Back then, between hand washing cloth diapers and waxing hard wood floors and who knows what other endless domestic tasks I’m sure she was responsible for, Cec’s mom found the time to create a beautiful baby book for her son.
In it, she lovingly documented every moment of baby Cec’s life: His first hair cut, his first time eating solid foods, et cetera. Just like what we do today, but without the digital, multiplatform experience. (And, despite the depression, there are pictures in Cec’s baby book, which I think is remarkable.)
Cec kept the book all his life. After he passed, my mom handed it back to the family. It’s a precious piece of family history.
