Based in reality

A while back, I wrote about my daughter's connection to her stuffed animals, as it applies to gender. I still get corrected if I call Goldie the Octopus, or Blue Bunny "he" - they are girl stuffed animals (duh). One thing that's never been on the table is a deep emotional connection to any of her stuffies. From the time she could form sentences, anytime I tried to personify one of her fluffy buddies, she would look up at me and say, "It's not real Dad." I, of course, know that (we've yet to consult the stuffed animals themselves on the feel about it).

She tends to through phases where she's really into her dolls, and will want to bring one or more along when we are going out. The answer is usually, "No," especially if we are doing a lot of walking, because five minutes after being out my wife or I are pressed into carriage of the doll. But if we're getting the car, "Okay, sure- but it stays in the car when we get to Target (or wherever)."

So the other day, we three (K, the doll, and I) got in the car. I buckled K in and got up in my seat and realized she was fumbling in the back with the middle seat belt, and when I looked back K was buckling her doll in as well. Hm, I thought. Giving into the mystery, taking care of of her doll as is she were real. I didn't voice this, just a "We all set back there?" And we were off.

When got back in the car, I got K situated and realized the doll was just kind of lying on the passenger seat (she had been unbuckled when we were getting out of the car). So before getting in up front, I made may around the car to help get her belted in as well.

"What are you doing?" asked K.

"I'm just getting her all buckled in."

"Why?"

"I don't know I just thought maybe you wanted her to be." Then I added, "To keep her safe."

K never looked up from the piece of paper she was looking at, and offered, "SHE'S NOT HUMAN, DAD."

Point taken.

I still belted the doll in. Safety first.

Safety first.

Overcoming Stuffed Misogyny

When K was a baby, my wife and I took it upon ourselves to name her toys and stuffed animals- because, I mean, they needed names: how else would they know when we were talking to/about them?

As she's gotten older, we've relinquished (although begrudgingly) naming rights to K. For quite a while, creativity was not paramount in naming an object. A baby was "Baby," a dog was "Doggie," etc. As her creativity has increased, so has her awareness and importance that these stuffed animals have specific genders- and generally she pitches toward her toy friends being female. 

So, when someone new comes on the seen (which is often as K forms no real lasting bonds with her stuffed comrades), my predilection is to call whatever it is a he. "What his name?" "Where did you put him?" Unless of course it's a pink cat, or if it's a rabbit with bows in its hair- then, I mean, of course it's a girl. I know. I'm unwittingly forcing my gender identification on these unsuspecting and undeserving stuffies.

For a while it went unnoticed- but now I'm being corrected. As in the case of "Sheepo" a little stuffed hamster, that came with its own little pet carrier and everything. K and I (and Sheepo) were on the train the other day, and I asked a question about "him." Realizing what I was doing, I checked myself by inquiring of Sheepo's gender. 

"She's a girl, Dad," K replied, "Otherwise her name would be "Hee-po."  

Boom. I got schooled. It was a hilarious insight into her reasoning process, and yet another step in the learning process of a father raising a daughter. I hope she keeps this sharp, comical edge to her- and that however she identifies herself in this world, she does so with confidence.