By Kristen C.
I have nothing against pink. It's a great color. You know, breast cancer awareness, a well-cooked steak, sapphires. And dresses or skirts, while fairly limiting when it comes to active toddler activities (like anything that involves more than sitting quietly in a chair or sleeping), are all fine and dandy. Hey, they got us through three months of wearing a leg cast, so I really shouldn't complain.
But when it comes to my daughter, I've tried to steer fairly far away from the overwhelming amount of pink and the "I swear it's a skirt, but clearly it's more like a belt" mini-skirts that seem to be forced down the throats of mothers with daughters.
Apparently girls don't like airplanes, trains, alligators, or elephants. And if they do, they must be pink. And "spoiled rotten" or "cute as a cupcake."
Part of me isn't surprised at the current state of oversexualization of our society when you look at all the crap we're given in which to dress our girls. It's either blue trucks and yellow bulldozers, or pretty pink ponies and purple balloons.
Hmmm... I wonder who's got the power?
And so I've tried valiantly to dress my daughter in browns and blues, buy her cars and blocks, and offer her pants and sneakers. Sure, there's a bit of pink, but for the most part, I try to show her a plethora of options, most of which do not include lace or beading of any kind. And while she loves to put on makeup (thanks to watching me get ready every morning), and coddle baby dolls, I still believe I'm raising a well-rounded fairly un-girly girl who likes playing house just as much as banging on a tool bench.
But then just the other day, she came home from a shopping trip with a new Build-a-Bear dog dressed in... you guessed it... pink furry Ugg boots, a bright pink miniskirt, and a pink sweater with sequins.
My only thought? It had to be my mother-in-law.
Kristen is a former college music professor turned stay-at-home-mother/rock star to her daughter Quinlan.