When I was pregnant with my second child, I wanted to know the gender. With my first I had waited until his birth, to enjoy one if the great surprises of life, but with my second I wanted to know if I needed to prepare differently. Maybe buy some pink? I was pretty convinced I was having another boy, as my pregnancy was feeling almost identical to the first. So when the ultrasound tech said, “You’re having a girl” I asked “are you sure”?
I continued to ask this question over and over during my next several appointments with the midwife and subsequent ultrasounds. I was concerned. I was nervous. Raising a girl? In this patriarchial, glass ceilinged, oppressive world? How will I teach her to protect herself? How will I teach her about violence towards women without terrifying her? What if I raise her to be a feminist but she decides to reject those ideals? How will I deal with periods and bras?
I actively raised my son to be a feminist. I have open discussions with him, much to his chagrin, about sexuality and consent, equal rights and marginalized populations. He is my son, my eldest, and so much like me.
My daughter, on the other hand, is my baby. My princess even though I hate Disney and how it portrays girls and women (at least until recent years). I want to protect her, and keep her innocent as long as possible.
When she was in the first grade I visited her classroom to be the mystery reader. I noticed thaf she was smaller than her peers. I noticed, as I had as her Daisy scout leader, that questions seemed to pass right over her. When other children were darting their hands into the air, eager to answer a question she sat there staring blankly. When there were opportunities to ask questions they buzzed all around her like bees, never landing on my little flower.
At the end of the school year, after much discussion with her teacher and a meeting with the principal, we decided to hold her back to repeat first grade. She would be with a new teacher, and a whole new group of kids, and it would give her the opportunity to grow and mature. This proved to be the best decision. Later we discovered she has some learning challenges, that she has learned to compensate for and her school district has supported without special services. However, all tolled, this has made me worry in more and different directions, and the desire to protect my baby girl has deepened.
My daughter is so smart and beautiful and kind and innocent. The other day she said, “all the girls in my grade are friends”. Really? In middle school? Is this real or her perception?
Yesterday my baby girl turned 13. She is still small for her age (the doctor says she will catch up) and she has to work extra hard to succeed in school. She is on student council. She is active in our church youth group. She is a competitive gymnast. But she is still my baby. And still I struggle to teach her about the dangers of the world, the trials and tribulations of being a woman. It has not occurred to her that anything might be difficult or more challenging because of her gender. She had no idea what I was talking about several months ago when I asked her about the things people tease girls about. I am not sure she has ever heard “throw like a girl” or “run like a girl” or “a girl can’t do that” in her life.
Maybe she won’t. Maybe in her lifetime those will all disappear. Women have had enough. #metoo #girlboss #noh8 have paved new roads. My daughter is growing up in a time with zero tolerance for bullying and sexual harrasment. In a time where there are finally consequences for boys being boys.
And still I worry. 7th grade begins in two months. 7th grade is the worst. Academically challenging and socially awkward. Mean girls. Bullies. Boys and girls behaving badly. All are on the horizon.
I will continue to teach her to be like a pineapple. Stand tall, be tough on the outside and sweet on the inside. Don’t be a princess but Do wear a crown. Be a badass. Be kind. Have boundaries. Stay true to yourself. And always be my baby.
Be like a pineapple. Love it!
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