Boys, Ballerinas, and Bags

Oh, come on, you have to expect this from me by now.

Why now?  Well, a few reasons: first, I've been reading Pink and Blue (the book and the blog).  Good book: highly recommended.  Second, I heard a story recently on NPR suggesting that scientists have actually found a biological link between the bacteria/germs we are exposed to and the rising rate of auto-immune disorders; the evidence suggests a secondary theory that women are more likely to have these disorders precisely because they are kept cleaner as children.  Note, please: the scientists do not believe that little girls are inherently tidier; they consider this a societal pressure that has far-reaching consequences.

This blog post, detailing once again the corporate strategy behind princess culture and gendered purchasing (although the author forgot to mention little details like that HEAPS of money that parents spend to replace a perfectly good car seat/pack'n'play/high chair/ bedding set simply because it is the "wrong" color for their new child).

It really does need to be said over and over: girls like pink and princess and dolls and cookware because that is what they are given, that is what they are expected to like, that is what everything in our society pressures them to do from before they leave the womb.  And while I think that the message is less psychologically damaging to boys - less sexualized, less objectifying - it's still not healthy to have one grand expectation forced down any child's throat from before birth onwards: "Be brave!  Be macho!  Don't cry, don't nurture, because you will be emasculated and ridiculed and people will think you're gay.  So run wild!  Be loud and drive trucks and dig in the dirt and build with blocks OR ELSE YOU MIGHT NOT BE MAN ENOUGH."  And whatever you do, little boys, don't wear pink.

None of which answers the question at the top of the page: why now?

Because we are moving.  We are: we have a house (yes!  really!) and a closing date and moving quotes and holy-crap-we-have-to-pack-everything!? anxiety.  We are moving to a new community, a new life, one that is going to rattle Asa's tree - one that is already rattling his tree.  And I don't - I really don't - want this transition to be any harder than it has to be for him.  I want to shelter him and protect him and scare away all the trolls with my terrible Mummy-claws.

But I also want Asa to be himself - the amazing, well-rounded self that he has already become, at 2 1/2.  I want him to love SuperWhy, and to run around in his cape crying out that he has the power to Read!  I want him to dig in the dirt and play with blocks and know the names of every construction vehicle that we pass everywhere we go.  I want him to wear his favorite pink shirt - the only piece of clothing he's ever picked out while in a store.  And his favorite brown pajamas with pink polka dots, that are too small but too beloved to put away yet.  And I want him to love Angelina Ballerina - not the boy characters, who are more likely to be musicians than dancers, but Angelina herself, in her pink tutu and slippers.  Angelina, whom Asa adores, to the point of begging us for a costume so that he, too, could look like Angelina.  The tutu wasn't enough, he wanted the leotard and tights, too.  Just like Angelina.

Which is not to say that Asa isn't confident in his own self-image.  He carried one of Mommy's purses for several days, last week; at the pharmacy, the woman ahead of us in line shamed him ("You're a boy.  Boys don't carry purses, it's not right.  Girls carry purses.  You should have a backpack, you're a boy.") and Asa responded far better than I could have: "I have a purse.  I like my purse.  I have a backpack, it's at home.  It's purple.  It's too big to carry out.  My purse is for out."  I didn't intervene, except to high-five Asa then, and talk afterwards about what a silly woman we had seen.  But how much can anyone's self-confidence last when it is constantly worn down by discussions like that one?  How long will Asa's genuine love of Angelina last, when everyone tells him that boys shouldn't love ballerinas?

The thing about moving to a new place is having to introduce yourself, knowing you'll be sized up and judged and held to the measuring stick of social expectations.  Which is nothing more than human nature, I do understand that.  But still: when that measuring stick is so inherently flawed, and when it feels more constraining than anything, it makes life hard.  And when it feels constraining to a wonderful, creative two-year-old... well, that raises a Mummy's hackles.

Flannel shirt and too-big-tutu.  It's a look.