I think I’m missing a gene: the girlie one. It never really became a problem until I had a daughter. Now don’t go thinking I’m talking about the woman gene. I have a uterus and the right to vote and I’m not afraid to use either. I’m also not speaking to the lady gene. If we were having a face to face conversation, it is highly unlikely I would discuss said uterus – knees shut, pasted on smile, slight nod, witty conversation. I’m also not talking about the feminist gene, the intellectual gene, the healthy butt gene, or any of those other genes that make up me.
I’m talking about the girl who contours her make-up, the 50 pairs of stylish sunglasses, the ones who wear primer, the one who regularly blow out their hair. I know these girls and I’m envious. I had to ask what primer is (apparently there is face and hair?!); I have one shade of make-up: pale; my blow-dryer has cobwebs on it. How the heck do they know this stuff this? The girlie gene.
I suppose it manifests itself at any time in your life and I could learn. I’d rather watch in awe these women who know how it’s done, but mostly I know it’s not really me. The part that worries me the most is what if she wants know? What if my baby girl loooves ruffles and sparkles and sequins and all I can think is those are a gateway to striping? (Side note: they aren’t really, I just go sarcastic first, and then dial it back. But if she has a career that starts with “Now welcome to center stage SPARKLES” I get to say I told you so).
I didn’t have this problem with my son. No one questions him running around in sock or covered in mud.* But his sister already has 6 pairs of shoes. She has a rack of hair bows (and no hair BTW) – she’s worn one once for 5 minutes until I thought her head was being squished and I didn’t want to stunt her intellect with pink tulle. I worry that a) I don’t know how to dress her like a girlie and b) sometimes I don’t care enough to learn.
So to face my fear, I try it. I put her in her rose gold boots and I try out the ballet slippers. People oohh and aahhh (and her father rolls his eyes) so either I did it right or she’s just that dang cute. I have no idea how to layer ruffles or make my eyebrows on fleek (WTF is that Puja?! – How do your eyebrows change from day to day? Learn me!). When it comes time for her questions, I will have youtube and several fantastic aunties on standby. I will google things like: how do you get mud off sequins, is there a standard bow-to-head ratio, when to start plucking and if I have to, I will google how to avoid glitter clumping in your thong.
*If my boy ever wants to switch from Captain Destructo to Princess Peonie, that’s I different blogpost on accepting my children as they are and loving them regardless