When the ultrasound tech looked at me and told me I was having a boy I could have shit myself in excitement. One of my biggest fears when I first found out I was pregnant was that I would have a girl.
Camping I know about. Getting dirty I know about. Superheroes I know about.
Getting dressed up
although I crave it confuses me. Tiaras upset me. Fashion makes me want to vomit.
Girly things are no good in my book. Unless of course you’re turning it into a slutty Halloween costume. To me it was always about the slutty Halloween costume, not the everyday dog and pony show most women put on. If I could go without a bra
and not serious injure those around me I would. If I could shave my head and not find myself suddenly single, I would. If I could live in a yurt, go with dirt under my finger nails, play with army men, and build tree forts every day of my life…..I would. I love my tom boy self and all the stereotypes that come with it. I was made to have boys.
Granted I like to dress up every now and then, and I have a hard time leaving the house without some form of makeup slathering my face, but it’s all usually short lived. Within an hour of wearing a pretty dress I’m sitting with my legs wide open and fishing for a runaway boob in my bra. My make-up goes on at 6:45 in the morning. That’s it. I don’t touch it up throughout the day
with the exception of lipstick and usually come home looking eerily similar to how I did at 6:44 that morning. And I’m ok with all this. And I’m ok with having a boy. He gets me. He puts on fairy wings to amuse me and promptly takes them off to go wipe out the enemy forces he previously lined up in the corner of the playroom. He’s cool. We connect.
When the ultrasound tech looked at me and told me I was having a girl back in 2008 I cheered knowing this would be the last stint of up-all-nights and vomit stained clothes I’d have to endure, but inside I was in a panic. I wanted to hide under the table or rock in a corner knowing soon everything I knew was right in this world would soon come to a crashing halt. Soon there would be princess things in my house. Soon I would have to coo the words “you’re so pretty” every 5 minutes. Cute hair cuts, pretty dresses, and glitter would soon consume me. I was sure of this. God help me, I was having a girl and I had absolutely no idea on how to raise one.
It was just my luck she was born with long hair(for a baby) and required hair ties and bows almost immediately. Everything was pink, including the skull prints. There were flowers and bunnies everywhere and princess castles marked almost every blankie that came into the house. I tried to battle the princess prints with brown and green hues but lost every time. Even as she got older pink infiltrated almost every aspect of our lives. Even my son couldn’t escape the waves of pink and glitter that made its way through the barricades. We were helpless, but we battled on.
Slowly we overcame and the color pink diminished slightly. We started to see more swords and nerf guns enter the house, and after 20 years on tv the Power Rangers became a prominent staple in the playroom. For her birthday my daughter asked for a dinosaur,
squeals gleefully and she’s now convinced she’s a ninja. Granted her ninja persona often incorporates beaded necklaces and a princess crown, but her mismatched socks are still pulled up to her knees with only one shoe on and a rubber sword shoved down the back of her shirt. It is safe to say we have reached a truce in the battle of male vs female. That is of course until she comes to me for princess fashion advice with big puppy dog eyes and asks, “Mommy does a princess wear dresses like this?” Then all I can do is smile and say, “Yes sweetie, princesses wear dressed like that all the time.”