Femininity

My daughter learned two new words yesterday: airplane! and truck! and she said them every time she heard said item pass our house last night. It was either a very busy night or we're just completely used to the number of large transport vehicles pass our place.

As a side note, seeing the delight on her face when she gets something right is just melt-worthy.

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The Man took The Girl out to the store on his own over the weekend. "She needs shoes," I said. "Soft-soled ones." She has foot issues -- the tiniest feet ever known on a 15-month-old, and obvious trouble with hard soled shoes. (As an aside, every single woman I have ever mentioned this to has gasped in delight and said "But that's GREAT! She'll get all the CUTE SHOES! On SALE!")

He arrived home with a pair of pink Mary-Janes, complete with decorative holes, which are completely impractical for daycare, given her predilection for sand and water, but are of course adorable. I kinda rolled my eyes, because it seems so daddy-like, you know? To buy her pretty things? And the fact is she can wear them a lot -- home, and inside daycare. So it's not like they are useless.

What's even more fun is how much SHE loves them. The next morning they were the first thing she asked for, and she wore them around all day, for part of it in her diaper. Diaper and pretty shoes. So. Yeah. It's clearly a girl I'm raising. In contrast my son has had a two pairs of shoes for the past six months, a worn out pair of runners and some sandals. I asked him if he wanted new runners, and because it involved going out of the home i.e. away from the computers and books he said no.

Sorry about the stereotypes I'm suggesting here but as I've written before, I live in the house where all stereotypes come true. Look for me to morph into June Cleaver over the coming months. I did find my pearls the other day (while searching for something else).

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Speaking of stereotypes, my daughter has been calmed from upset over the past two days once with a promise of lip balm and once with a promise of lotion. Not just the containers, the actual stuff. I ... I can't even ... Yeah. It's like -- I GET IT, universe. SHE'S A GIRL.

You may wonder why I find all this so surprising, and the reason is this: there's a photo in my old school things of my class from kindergarten. It's a small class. The girls are all in front. The boys are all in the back. The front row is a pretty row of all little dresses. Mostly pink, some frilly. Until the girl in the middle, who is sitting there in worn denim overalls, bright yellow socks and runners.

Which is, obviously, me. Me, a little girl who spent her weekends playing in the garden and climbing trees and playing with Lego and refused -- REFUSED -- to wear dresses for almost her entire growing up life. People, a childhood friend of mine who I hadn't seen in years came to my wedding and was SURPRISED to find me wearing a dress. AT MY OWN WEDDING. THAT'S how much of a tomboy I was. I never owned barbies, I never wore pink, I never wore dresses. I distinctly remember cutting a dress with scissors as a toddler because my mother made me wear it. It was a knit dress. It was ruined.

SO. It's all the more surprising to me that my own daughter wants to wear stuff on her lips and loves lotion and dolls. And disconcerting. I mean, what kind of feminist am I to encourage my daughter to play with babies and wear lip balm at FIFTEEN MONTHS??!

Having said all that?

The other day I was exclaiming over this appearing ultra-femininity to one of the ladies at the daycare, and I commented about how I just didn't understand it! Where had it come from?!

She looked at me in surprise. It was only then that I looked down at my clothing for the day and saw a black pencil skirt, a fitted shirt, a jacket, and heels.

I know. I know. Guess I know who to blame.

And I guess the apple doesn't fall that far from the tree after all.