Loud and proud

How cool is it that little kids are totally androgynous? Monster has a head full of blonde curls, and we are forever being complimented on our “sweet little girl.” Unless a baby is in head-to-toe pink or wearing a headband of some sort, there’s no telling what’s underneath that diaper.

Kids don’t know that anything is “girly” or “boyish” until we (wrongfully) tell them so.

That’s not to say that there aren’t biological differences between boys and girls. But really, there’s no scientific reason blue is for boys and pink is for girls; we just market it that way. While taking 100 feminism courses in college, I swore that I would not gender stereotype my children. They could pursue whatever interests they have, and I would avoid trigger phrases like “what a strong boy” and “what a delicate little girl.”

Then you pop out a kid and realize it doesn’t matter what you want; the rest of the world is going to put your kid in a box as soon as the midwife says, “Yup, there’s his penis.”

Monster Man is a little boy, according to that box. He is rough. He is a sturdy, towering mini-linebacker. He loves meat and potatoes and thinks vegetables are for wusses.

But I have to say, there are days when he is my fancy little boy, and I love him for it:

    • He loves shoes. Downright obsessed with them. He demands to put on my shoes and prance around our bedroom. He shuffles around our first floor with my shoes on his feet and his shoes on his hands, saying, “Shees? Shees?” (That’s how he says “shoes.”) When I was getting ready for a charity event last weekend, I think it took everything in him not to say, “Momma, I KNOW you aren’t wearing last season’s peep-toed heels with that dress.”
    • I’m not going to say he could distinguish a knock-off Kate Spade from the real thing, but I am going to tell you that he prefers a designer label. He’s happy to throw any old bag in the crook of his arm, load it with his favorite toys (spatula and wisker) and head for the door. But when he gets his grimy little paws on my newest purse, he breathes in the leather (sorry PETA), caresses the silk lining and cradles it like it’s a new baby. The kid has taste.
  • His dancing is fabulous with a capital F. When I pick him up from day care, I’ll peer through the window for a few minutes to see what he’s like when I’m not around. One day last week, Monster was JAMMIN to some nursery rhymes. I’m talking droppin-it-like-it’s-hot-to-“Wheels on the Bus” kind of dancing. The teacher later told me, “He demands to dance every day.”
  • When nothing else will soothe him, I put on a musical. Give him some woodland creatures singing a song and he is entranced.

I love that my son is soaking up everything: trucks, cooking with Momma, basketball, animals, giving kisses, adoring babies, learning how to be gentle, learning how to properly apply rouge, learning how to spike a football.

And yes, I’m getting as much of this as I can on video. It will make great footage for his E! True Hollywood Story when he’s a famous dancer/singer/actor, or it will make great footage for his E! True Hollywood Story when he’s a famous baller.

Either way, I’ll be one proud Momma.

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