My inner weeping feminist

Friday night I found my daughter, as usual, in the daycare garden with all her friends and caregivers. She was playing happily, and I scooped her up and went inside. Near the door was an abandoned "baby" -- a godawful naked plastic thing. The Girl was very excited. "Baybee!" she exclaimed. I obligingly picked it up, absently noting it was a strange place for a toy -- the daycare cleans up pretty well before they go outside, and so the place is often neat as a pin when I get there. I went and checked all the charts -- toileting, eating, sleeping -- crossed her off sign in, grabbed her lunch. She was still holding baby.

"We need to put baby down!" I said cheerily. She obliged.

And then, as she realized that Baybee was going to be left there, the tears began.

"Baybee!" she wept as we said goodbye.

"Baybee!" she wept as we walked to the car.

"Baybee!" she wept as I put her down. She started walking back to the daycare. "BAYBEE!"

I picked her up, assuring her baby would be there Monday.

"Baybee!" she wept in the car. "Up!" as I strapped her in.

I sighed. We went back to the daycare. I am a softie, I spoil my kid. I know.

We picked up the baby. She smiled. My daughter, not the plastic monstrosity.

She was happy all the way home.

Saturday morning we woke up to rain. Lots of rain. Downpour of rain. We had no idea what to do with ourselves. The Boy decided to play with his playdoh. A great idea, since The Girl can join in. But of course the playdoh, long since played with, was rock hard.

We decide to go to the toy emporium for more. Sure, we can make more or rehabilitate the stuff we have, but we need an outing, something fun other than errands, so ... off we go.

And we find the baby aisle. And my daughter went. nuts. "BAYBEEZ! BAYBEEZ! BAYBEEZ!" ad nauseum.

We found a plastic baby. On sale. For $7.

My inner feminist wept.

I know this is such a small deal. Really, it is. A small deal. But coming home from the toystore with a nerf dart gun, a plastic baby (and some playdoh!) feels nothing like how I imagined my parenting to be. I hysterically texted a friend of mine. "It's a slippery slope!" I wrote. "It's only a short step from hideous baby to princess dress and heels and tiara!"

She laughed.

I think. It's hard to tell on text.

But here's the thing. She's SO happy. And so is my son, playing with the dart gun. She took the baby to nap. To play with in the afternoon. And she fell asleep with it close to her. She looked for it when she woke up.

I still don't feel totally right about it. I don't want to enforce genders on my kids. But the fact is that part of parenting is letting them be who they are, without any apologies. She LOVES the baby. He LOVES the dart gun. I ... I have to make my peace with it. I hate the dart gun as much as I hate the ugly baby, but they get to live their own lives.

I just need to love them through it.