Pink, politicized

I'm not a big blog reader, but there are a couple that I read daily, at least. One, of course, was the inspiration for this one, by friends of ours in Brooklyn. The other is one that M. found via google, I believe, and now we're both hooked.

Today, I checked both, and got very much sucked into the latter. Because, you see, today's post was all about gender identity and... pink. Granted, Baba (as this particular parent calls herself) tends more towards hyperventilation than do I, but as she described not only her own four-year-old daughter's ballet class, but the ballet-themed birthday party of her daughter's cousin, I began to feel some distinct resonances. And then she hit the nail on the head for me: "My brother -in-law and boy nephew were totally fine the whole time[during the ballet party], by the way, because why? Because at no point was this pink tutu-filled world laid out for them as their one, their only, their true destiny." (to read the full post, click here)

Hmm.

In itself, I have nothing against pink. Or skirts or dresses, or heels, as anyone who knows me is quite aware. But it disturbs me deeply that in this supposedly post-feminist day and age, I can still go into Target and see "girls' toys" that consist of plastic kitchen sets, baby dolls, and all of the other trappings of the 1950s housewife. Legos, Duplos, and all the fun stuff gets labeled "for boys". Even the supposedly "gender-neutral" toys get painted shades of pink and lavender for little girls. And don't even get me started on baby clothes. What sort of subtle messages are we sending our kids?

I promise that my pink-nazi phase will pass, especially if we have a boy. Even if little Hepzibah wants to take ballet in yards of pink tulle... hey, I did it, and turned out okay. (no comments, please.) And I don't mean any of this as judgment against anyone who disagrees - what, am I going to be opinionated while denying the opinions of others? Not so much. A lot of friends wore a lot more pink, and a lot more frills, than I ever did, and have become brilliant, liberated women. But I challenge us all to find just one of these women who have not faced gender stereotyping, or any of the other subtle forms of sexism that are still rampant in our culture. Pink is just one sign of it, of the way in which we tell our little girls "what it is to be feminine". And as long as we are creating that distinction, as long as we are setting different boundaries for little boys and little girls, this particular Mummy will be firmly anti-pink.

When the Bean is old enough to choose his/her own clothes, then Mummy's opinion becomes just that: Mummy's opinion. I'll even help fasten the little frilly pink skirts. But while the Bean's sense of self-in-the-world is in its earliest phases, wouldn't it be nice to actually enact and embody the phrase which I hope our Bean will hear frequently: "You can be absolutely anything you want to be."

Makes Hepzibah sound good

(Disclaimer: yes, I know I'm leaving out half of my own last name. In this one instance only, I promise - but ya gotta admit, it's funnier.)

Yesterday, I got a note from Katrina, asking for the blog address again. She had tried to google "And Bean Makes Three", and though she found a baby blog (a blogspot one, too), it was for a couple in Minnesota with a one-year-old (or so). Really cute kid, and actually a pretty funny series of blog posts. (Of course I looked. Wouldn't you?)

But they fell victim to the trend towards oddly-unique names. In this case: Paisley. And I couldn't help myself - probably aided by the other similarities in blogging - I thought about that name in our case. And it hit me:

Paisley Tweedy.

Sounds like a men's clothing store run amok.

Dreams, cravings, and other odd stuff

A note from Marcey:

Those of you who know me know that I'm a big nighttime dreamer - technicolor, bizzarre, vivid movies are the norm. There's been wacky trends of being back in college lately, me packing up dorm room posters and books, racing to get to my current adult life, trying to squeeze in the trigonometry final exam I'm totally unprepared to take.
But a few nights ago, I had a crystal-clear dream that we had a healthy baby girl, with chocolate-drop brown eyes and a few wisps of hair. Friends from all parts of our life arrived in a surreal parade - chorus members from Stonewall in NYC, new friends from Harvard Divinity, a gay pride parade passing in the background like a birth Mardi Gras, and of course, family. I woke up smiling.
Cravings? CHEESE! Cream cheese and bagels, sharp, spicy hard cheeses, and orange/red foods like sweet potatoes, tomato-black bean soups, strawberries, OJ. I had a pimiento olive a few weeks ago that never tasted so good in my life. I learned that in Thailand, an expecting mother is seen as "really pregnant" not at the first baby kick, but at the first day of craving sour foods. I'm there!
Funniest body change? The very center of my innie belly button is slowly rising to the surface...and the skin isn't tan; it's never seen the light of day. And wouldn't you know, it's ticklish. Of course. :)

More pitcures of the Bean

A contemplative moment.

Not a Fig!

Not a schmoo, either. Look at our Bean!


Okay, so Bean still has some alien-baby moments. Especially when caught on film mid-barrel-roll. Apparently, ticklishness is inherited. Mommy might just be in for a loooong third trimester. Bean was all over the place, bouncing and wiggling. The moment that we couldn't quite catch (unfortunately) was the moment of thumb-sucking that had both mothers in melty little puddles on the floor.

Hey, Bean... wave hello to all the folks who love you!

We come by it honestly

From Granna Kate, this morning:

"Something about today's front page made my brain work in convoluted ways... (well, duh!)... and I remembered Piglet's grandfather, Trespassers W., which was short for Trespassers Will, which was Short for Trespassers William.

"And I thought, thought I... (unless you'd prefer for him to live in the Hundred Acre Wood, under the name of Saunders), that perhaps young Obadiah, should that happen to be Bean's gender, might take on the spirit of Piglet's ancestor.

"What do you think of Stimulus Bill? We who love the child could call him Stimulus Billy?"

Or Stimulus William. Thank you, Granna.

Back to the Bubble

Living in Massachusetts, sometimes one forgets what a lovely little bubble protects us. Legal marriage, and the benefits and rights it bestows, can occasionally make us forget that there's a huge segment of this country that isn't actually happy for us, or for our little Bean.

Like the segment right next door to us - admittedly, not the "huge" part mentioned above, but a segment nonetheless.

Our very own, usually-beloved, state of Rhode Island and Providence Plantations. (Little state, big name. Kind of a taxonomic Napoleon complex.) And it very clearly demarcates the edge of our bubble.

Several phone calls to both Women and Infants' Hospital, and the state Board of health, have determined that babies born in Rhode Island may have one (1) Mommy and one (1) Daddy. No other possibility is allowed. Not on the birth certificate, at any rate. Someone else, a Mummy, for instance, may adopt the little tyke at a later date, but it will not be a complete family that leaves the hospital.

And so we return to our bubble, and to the security that it provides our little family. M. has talked with several other moms at her school, who have recommended Ob/Gyns in our very own town. And indeed, it turns out that the little hospital down the road from us has a fabulous birthing center. Who knew? So with great sadness, we will be saying goodbye to our midwife and the amazing nurses we had come to love and trust, and moving a little closer to home. Back to the bubble, and not taking anything for granted.

Meanwhile, many thanks to Joni for her wonderful willingness to help us find information - and to keep us laughing. (Bean says thank you, too.)