Friday, 23 May 2014

got myself a crying, talking, sleeping, walking, living doll...

...except the last bit. Doll is a four-letter word. My daughter is oh-so-much-bigger than four letters can possibly encompass unless they are love, life and the like.
At a year old, she is showing signs of spunk and independence that make me petrified ("what am I unleashing on myself?") and proud.
Witness the latest today: The youngest attendee at PP's "bring your child to work day" she is too young to actually participate in the musical chairs and other activities for the 3-8 age group, but not too young to gamely toddle off toting a balloon, falling all over the place, unsurprised when said balloon bursts in her face...
But what made my feminist heart secretly burst with pride was when she approached the cut outs of super heroes. She determinedly pushed Superman over and though I rushed to her side with all the appropriate clucking noises, I was delighted. Superheroes are silly vigilantes who don't know enough to wear their underwear on the inside. Sure, I love them too. Like men love Barbie dolls.
Speaking of which, I promptly passed on the first Barbie she was gifted. Seeing one sets my teeth grinding, creating a rather interesting percussive effect. PP's first toy purchase for her was a rather cool remote controlled car which we have loads of fun with. Some of my favourite clothes for her come from the boys section.
It's a struggle to try and constantly be aware of doing enough and not too much. I don't want her to miss out on all the enjoyment of being a girl. Yet, I certainly don't want her to morph into a beaded bag toting, lipsticked six-year-old wearing miniature versions of adult clothing like so many young girls I see around me. 
So we work at it. When Dadi says "ladkiyon waale toh kaam hi nahi karti" I am delighted and tell her so because said ladkiyon vaaley kaam entail genteel behaviour. 
So when there is a video in which Halle Berry talks about how her baby girl breastfed like a proper little lady versus her new son who wades into it and says, boys and girls are so different, I go uh-uh, you ain't seen mine.
She will feed sitting in vajrasana, standing up, in downward dog, tummy on my face, lying across me, yank my clothes... you get the picture. 
I am happy and I hope K will continue to go after what she wants in life without worrying about being called domineering or bossy or whatever it is women get called when they are determined.  

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