Sugar and spice
and everything nice
that’s what little girls are made of
Sunshine and rainbows
and ribbons for hair bows
that’s what little girls are made of
Tea parties, laces
and baby doll faces
that’s what little girls are made of
This poem popped up on my Facebook feed this morning, along with the accompanying comment: “So true. Little girls need to be taught to behave like ladies!”
Once I resisted the urge to unfriend this person, or, worse, craft a pithy, snarky comment, I started thinking about what this really means. What is a “lady”, exactly? And why should my children be taught to behave like ladies? The subtext here, of course, is that girls should know their place. They should let those boys (made of “snips and snails and puppy dog tails”) take the lead, get messy, run around like… well, like boys. Leave the tea parties and baby dolls to those pretty (and quiet) little girls with ribbons in their hair.
Yes, my daughters have an affinity for tutus, and we do, in fact, have a drawer dedicated to them. They like to dress up and pretend they are either evil witches or willowy princesses. I cringe a little when they start practicing their curtsies (and quietly vow to take Cinderella out of heavy rotation). But I also see the value of this creative role playing, so I let them go, only occasionally interjecting misplaced comments like, “but WHY does Cinderella need a prince?!? She could go back to school!” which usually generate exasperated eye rolls, sighs and head shakes. The knowing glances my children exchange when I try to inject my “I am woman, hear me roar” sensibilities into their playtime are epic.
And so, like Sisyphus, I push the metaphorical boulder up the hill and fight the tide of the image of the “quiet, pretty princess.” I fight that stereotype by not being anything like it. I have a career I enjoy and live an active and civically-minded existence. I have shown my daughters evidence of Mommy speaking out, raising her voice, and not always being “sugar and spice and everything nice.” My husband and I share equally the responsibilities of keeping the house running and the children alive so they can see that Mommy isn’t the only nurturer and caregiver in our family.
Yes, I do these things because I believe in them whole heartedly. I am on a quest for a fulfilling and meaningful life independent of my children and husband. It should go without saying that Mommy is more than just a Mommy.
But, it doesn’t go without saying, of course. In the back of my mind I am thinking of my daughters, bombarded with images of quiet, airbrushed, hollow women and girls. Quiet, timid, and decidedly unassertive “Ladies” worthy of nothing more than ornamentation.
And, so, I fight the good fight. I lead by example and push against the infuriating stereotype. Sisyphus and I are soulmates until I pass the torch to my daughters. When the time comes, they, too, will push that boulder. But, I’m betting that when it’s their turn, that damn rock will be ever-so-much lighter. For all our sakes, I hope that’s true.
A Child Grows in Philly’s Editor, Mollie Michel, is a South Philly resident and a Philadelphia public school parent. A recovering non-profit professional, Mollie is also an experienced birth doula, Certified Lactation Counselor, and the mom of two awesome girls and a sweet pit bull named Princess Cleopatra. In her spare time, she is usually trying to figure out how Pinterest works, training for a(nother) half-marathon with her dog at her side, or simply trying to keep up with her increasingly wily daughters.