I was not excited to be having a daughter when we found out our baby was a girl. I went through a lot growing up as a girl and even my experience was not that bad compared to a lot of the stories I hear now. I was overweight and awkward and shy and also probably too smart to be cool, but I guess nobody else really cared enough about me to bully me.
I had a small group of friends, I had some good teachers, I got through and everything after was much, much better.
I will always worry – especially now that my daughter has been told at preschool that she can’t play with “boy” toys and she’s cried in dance class because she was scared, but she can’t tell me why.
But the more I read about other mothers’ experiences and the more I hear about what boys have to go through, I don’t think it would have been easier at all.
Girls can wear pants, or not.
Girls can wear nail polish, or not.
My kid can go to her skating lessons in a hockey shirt with hockey skates and no one says a word.
But imagine if I had a son who chose figure skates. Or wanted to wear a skirt or wanted to paint his nails.
There would always be this moment of hesitation, this moment of ‘am I hurting him by letting him be who he wants to be’ that I won’t have with my girl.
It doesn’t matter what she chooses to wear or how she chooses to carry herself, it doesn’t matter who she chooses as a partner or what she picks as her career, she’ll be who she’ll be and the world will not bother her for it. Not as much, anyway, in the end.