Wriggling into her bathing suit in the bathroom at the Y this week, Saskia said, “I like this bathing suit. It’s kind of like a bra.”
To wit, my girl likes bras.
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Also, she likes bling—a lot.
(Pouting mouth thanks to yellow pepper.)
Here’s what I do when she’s in the mood to try on bras or jewelry—mine, our friend’s left-behind earrings or a bracelet she was given or a ring from the dentist’s office—I let her. She wants to have some nail polish? Sure. She wants to put marker on her nails (she’s a DIY type). Whatever.
Here’s what I think when she’s accessorizing or polishing or dressing up or disrobing; she’s so darn cute. I love that my primary response when I watch her delve into making herself the canvas is enjoyment of her exploration.
It is very different, parenting a fourth child than a first or second. How carefully I thought so many things through when my first kids were this young. These days, I just don’t. The mighty have fallen or I’ve realized that regardless of whether you watch Good Luck Charlie (by the way, I heartily urge you to avoid doing this) you will probably turn out just fine.
That said it scares me to realize how much advertising is pitched to girls about being pretty—and later sexy. Even at the health food store, I noted a line of girls’ beauty products. I may recall Bonnie Bell Lip Smackers (aka gloss–7-Up) somewhat fondly, but really? I’m afraid. Especially in the larger sense, like when I realized that my preschooler, who’d never seen a Dora the Explorer anything wanted the Dora band-aids at the CVS. She made that request by name. Who could resist her little voice saying, “Doo-wa,” anyway? Especially when I realize that so many women I think are beautiful in the Hollywood sense have been done to, or even if they haven’t, when I see them, much has been done. What about my boys? In a media-saturated world that objectifies girls and women, what must the boys perceive about how women are “supposed” to appear? That might be the main reason to be thankful to live in an extremely “casual” town, that their real-life eyes see many women just being themselves without huge adornment, and very few nips, tucks or peels.
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The difference for me with my fourth child, who also happens to be my girl, I am more confident that I can parse the macro from the micro; she can play with the jewelry and still be raised to question pretty much everything and to be confident about who she is and what she does rather than having been told somehow that how she looks is where self-esteem begins—and ends.
