I’m sure the hormones of early pregnancy amplified my reaction- the fact that one of Kevin’s grad school buddies was tweeting about a VPILF probably didn’t warrant tears- but the tears came anyway, accompanied by dagger glares to Kevin for being male and already knowing what VPILF meant.
“What if I’m pregnant with a girl? And what if she has different political ideas than we do and she runs for office? We’re bringing a girl into a world where if people disagree with her they aren’t going to talk about issues, they are going to objectify her and take away any power she might have with the almighty ‘that’s where I want to stick my penis’ card, and laugh.” Extra distress resulted from the fact that the people perpetuating VPILF were people I would normally consider my liberal allies, and any upset from me was dismissed as me being humorless. (A huge mistake, let me tell you. I am hilarious).
Several months later I found myself teary after every day spent at the magical world of Disney. Every day we listened to the wait staff ask Carter what “the princess” wanted to drink, then act embarrassed to discover the princess is a boy- because boys can’t ever be something as horrible as a girl– then step outside to see the princesses, complete with makeup and hairspray.
“If this is a girl, we can’t go to Disney,” I lamented. “I let the boys be boys. I’ve welcomed squirt guns and swords into my pacifist home, side by side with dora, dolls and play kitchens- but I draw the line at makeup for toddlers.”
I was filled with new admiration for my friends who raise girls. Boys have their challenges, certainly. I never imagined I’d have to say things like, “no, honey, you need to keep your penis in your pants,” or “that squirt gun won’t last longer than a few hours if you use it as a hammer,” and those are just the tip of the boy-iceberg.
Here’s the thing though: squirt guns and swords are fun. They involve running, screaming and action. Traditional boy play is actually what I think of as natural child play- it’s what kids do when left to their own devices. Makeup and hairspray aren’t fun (to me at least)- they are what we do to look presentable, to attract mates, to hide the sleep circles.
Princess for a day should involve the capacity to chop off pretend enemies’ heads, ride pretend horses and play with dragons, not hold still for a long time while people paint you. Disney’s version of a dream day for little girls sounds like teaching little boys to work in middle management for the day. Here boys, suck it up, wear a tie and pretend to be in charge. Fun times. Why on earth would we think little kids should “play” that way?
Stay tuned for part two: in which I justify my crappy housekeeping as a political statement. You won’t want to miss it.