Last weekend, we had some friends over to our new place. My friend asked me a simple question, “What do you think about little boys having little strollers?” I told her I thought it was fine. “Me too,” she said. “As long as the stroller is blue.”

It was a simple, unremarkable exchange. But it reminded me of a question I have been pondering off and on for a while now, namely whether we parents should try to “encourage” our children toward “gender appropriate” objects and behaviors. Please note that I use scare quotes here very purposefully as I am not sure where encouraging ends and pressuring begins and I am not sure whether I believe that there are such things as gender appropriate objects and behaviors.

I remember the moment well. Toddler, two at the time, had just made the foray into potty-training. To celebrate this progress, we went shopping for big girl undies. At the store, we stood there, mother and daughter, in front of the display of baby briefs. Another mother and her daughter stood next to us, also perusing the merchandise. As fate would have it, both of our little girls zeroed in on the Diego underwear. Yes, in the boys’ section. This other mother was horrified. “You cannot have those!” She yanked some princess panties from the rack and whisked her girl away. Toddler’s interest in the Diego underwear didn’t wane. Very politely, very articulately, she told me those were the ones she wanted.

I didn’t give it much thought. I bought her two pairs.

To this day, my little girl wears these undies under her little purple outfits. She loves them.

So what? I am not sure, but I have always believed that we should let young kids be who they are. My little girls play with dolls and strollers and trucks and trains. Some nights, they sleep in blue pajamas covered in cowboy hats. Some nights, they sleep in pink pajamas covered in twirling ballerinas.

I let them choose.

Thanks to Lisa Belkin of the NYT’s Motherlode, I became aware of a recent controversy surrounding this ad wherein a little boy is depicted wearing his mother’s high heels and trying her lipstick. In the corner of said images are advertisements for a karate school. The message, presumably, problematically, is Let us toughen your boy up. Apparently this ad, arguably prime evidence of stereotyping and gender-shaming, was published online without the karate company’s consent. Click here if you are interested in the details.

I have a good friend with a little boy. He is a wonderful little boy – exceedingly intelligent and kind. He does like to try on his mother’s heels and necklaces and is an amazing dancer. I see this little guy and smile. I applaud my friend for raising such a charismatic character. Never in a million years do I think anyone should try to change this little creature into something he isn’t. Never in a million years do I think that this little boy at age four is emblematic of who this man will be at age forty. And if there is a connection? He will be an awesome forty-year-old.

Now, I am biased. I grew up an unapologetic no-frills tomboy. I lived for sports. When I was eight and attending soccer camp, I was called “Rambo’s wife” (I was tough and could compete with the boys). I wore a Larry Bird jersey to fifth grade more often than not. And my parents? They let me do my thing. They bought me autographed basketballs for my birthday. They came to my games. And when, in high school, I suddenly started wearing skirts and makeup, they rolled with it. They did what I think a good parent should do (within reason): They stayed out of my way.

But is it this simple? It never is, is it? We parents are doing the best we can. Each and every day. And in each of these days, we are faced with decisions. Some as simple as pink or blue. Some far more complicated, nuanced than that. And so. I don’t pretend to know what’s right and what’s wrong here. All I can do is draw on my own experiences as a child, and now as a parent, in this big, bad world.

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• Do you think we should steer kids toward “gender appropriate” activities and objects?
  
• Is there such thing as “gender appropriate” activities and objects?
• Are there certain toys you wouldn’t let your little girl or little boy play with?
• Do you believe that we parents should, in many respects, “stay out of our kids’ ways”?
• Would you have bought your little girl the Diego briefs?
• Do you agree that the karate school ad was offensive?
• As a child, did your parents steer you toward certain activities rather than others presumably because of your gender?
  

Once upon a time, I did many things. I went to school and worked hard, yes, but I also played sports. Three of them. Soccer. Basketball. Softball. In high school, I was the captain of all three teams and nothing made me happier than slipping into my Dalton uniform, playing an afternoon game, and coming home bruised and grass-stained and smiling. I also played the trumpet. In the orchestra and in various jazz groups.

I also collected things. Cabbage Patch Kids and baseball cards and Absolut Vodka ads. (Anyone else on this third one? This seems bizarre now.)

I set up lemonade stands in front of my house. I made jewelry out of tiny toys with friends. I played jacks and jump-roped.

I did things.

Now. Now I am doing things too. I am raising two wonderful, energy-zapping little girls. I am writing words here and elsewhere. I am ingesting embarrassing amounts of terrible television. (Yum. Yuck. Yum.) I am making to-do lists and running errands and checking Facebook and floating tweets and bemoaning the fact that I no longer have hobbies.

What happened? When I was a kid, I did so many things and indulged in such a variety of activities. Now that I am a big girl and have kids, not so much.

Is this just what happens? Am I in a stage of life where my most important purpose is raising and rearing creatures and finding them happiness and hobbies? Will there come a time when our kiddos are a bit older and Husband and I reunite with our hobbies or find new ones? I don’t know. But I hope so.

Who knows… Maybe ten years from now, I will be captain of a Central Park soccer league, have a gig playing trumpet at a famous jazz bar downtown, and sell organic free-squeezed lemonade at the local street fair. But will this be as cute as it once was, or will it have midlife crisis written all over it?

Am I the only one who has lost her hobbies along the way? Or am I viewing things through the wrong lens? Perhaps the fact that I no longer do the things I once did and enjoyed is not in itself problematic. Maybe, just maybe, I should realize that I have embraced new hobbies. (Dancing with little girls before bath, picking outlandish wallpapers, having conversations with Husband, writing blog posts, etc.)

Are my words today just further evidence of my allergy to adulthood, my unwillingness to embrace the stage of life in which I sit squarely? It’s entirely possible.

(Childhood was awesome, huh?)

_____________________________

• Did you do many things as a child? What were those things?
• Have you been able to maintain a healthy dose of hobbies?
• Do you think this loss of hobbies is about adulthood or parenthood or both?
• Is it up to us to maintain the “play” alongside the “work”?
• Did you collect anything as a child?
• Are you having a hard time embracing adulthood too?

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Okay, this is a bit random. But also interesting. (To me.)

Have you ever been to UrbanBaby.com? Well, it’s a message board largely populated by urban parents and discussions chez UB range wildly from the practical (paint color suggestions, pediatric advice, baby name votes) to the more bizarre (sexual confessions, political rants, comparisons of household income to waist size – huh?!) Anyway, I used to frequent this site quite a bit when I was pregnant with Toddler and when she was young. At some point though, I stopped because I was disenchanted with the palpable meanness and snark that emerged in this anonymous forum.

Recently, I have popped back on from time to time. Out of curiosity. To be honest, this site is an amazing resource for the writer. Where else can you log on and get a real-time sampling of human conversation and concern? Where else can you pose an anonymous question and get a near-instant response from real people? (Warning to all: if you are a UB regular, your antics might just appear in my next novel!)

Anyway. I was on the site the other day and I watched a curious debate ensue. I will give you the basics. A mother of three children says that she has lost all of her baby weight, that she is quite thin actually, but that she still has a conspicuous belly (she calls it a “ball”). Fine. So what? People have kids and their bodies change. This is hardly revolutionary, right? Anyway, this woman says that she does not want to lose any more weight, that she has tried every exercise under the sun, but that this “ball” will not deflate. And. And her husband will not stop talking about it and mentioning it.

Ugh.

This woman mentions that she cannot afford plastic surgery and that she just doesn’t know what to do. Then she (foolishly?) turns to the UB population for advice. And this lucky lady gets some pretty unanimous advice: Don’t worry about your baby belly. Lose the husband. Yes, that’s right. People get angry and told her that the issue here is not her body, but her betrothed. A few people defend her husband a bit and say that he is allowed to make comments about his wife’s appearance, that partners should be able to be honest about such things. Another responder says that there is a vast difference between discussing issues of weight and health and suggesting that a woman change something about her appearance that she might not be able to change. The general feel here is that this man was essentially evil for disparaging his wife, and particularly her belly, that safe and cozy place where his own three children had grown.

I logged off and thought about this some. Obviously, none of us has the whole story here. We have no real grasp of the dynamics in this marriage, or whether this guy, this critical-seeming husband, is bad news. But. I will say that this woman’s words made me a bit sad and a bit feisty. What should she do?

Of course this is not just about this one woman. This is about all of us, isn’t it? When we enter into relationships, are we tacitly agreeing to an atmosphere of honesty even on tough and upsetting concepts? Or are there things that are off-limits like body and particularly body after babies? Goodness, I don’t pretend to know.

What I do know is that in my opinion, 99.9% of women have some kind of body issue/insecurity. (I really can’t speak for men, but I imagine most men do too.) Personally, I could never be with a man who criticized my body at any time (short of some more serious obesity/health concern). I have witnessed men telling women not to eat the bread rolls at dinner or that they better watch it (and women saying these things to men too) and this stuff makes me cringe. I could never handle this. But maybe I am super-sensitive and idealistic?

Then again. Presumably, we all want to look good. For ourselves and those we love. Maybe, just maybe, this anonymous poster on UB is just as frustrated and critical of herself as her husband is. Maybe she wants to get her body back and is genuinely seeking advice about how to do this? I have no clue.

All I know? These body battles are tricky, tricky things and maybe come down to the individuals involved. One more thing I know? If Husband ever said anything negative about my body, particularly after popping out his precious progeny, there would be some old school fisticuffs. Thankfully (for him and for me), Husband, my sweet and supportive man, has never gone there. Maybe that is because I am so freaking hot and perfect???

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• Has your partner ever said anything critical about your body or your eating habits? How have you handled this?
• Do you feel at liberty to criticize your partner’s body or eating behaviors?
• Do you think there should be an added sensitivity surrounding body after babies or no?
• Do you think this man in the hypothetical above seems like a bad guy, or just honest?
• Do you have any advice for the woman who dared air her issue on UB? How to banish the belly “ball”?
• Assuming you could afford it, would you ever consider plastic surgery apres kiddos?
• Are there any places you go to cull instant and killer writing material?
  

Forty-two years ago, my parents got married.

Fourteen years ago, Sister I and Brother-in-Law J1 got married.

For obvious reasons, I don’t remember the first of these weddings. But I do remember the second. I was seventeen and a mere week from heading off to Yale. I was so happy. So excited. So stuffed with anticipation. My sisters and I were bridesmaids. We wore big blue ball skirts and ivory tops. Five minutes before we were to process into the picturesque gardens, the skies opened up on all the lemonade-sipping guests. What ensued was an unpredicted and utterly perfect evening of celebration. My keenest recollection of that night was gathering with my four sisters and my parents at the center of the dance floor where we all threw our arms around each other and got down to “We Are Family.”

I remember when Sister I and BIL J1 so graciously presented my parents with an anniversary cake. I remember Mom cutting a slice and feeding it to Dad and how tuxedo-clad Dad, ever the goofball, bit her finger. The laughter that erupted was priceless.

I remember how beautiful my oldest sister looked that day. How her big dress bounced and twirled. How she looked at the handsome man who was her guy. That night? I am realizing today, on this happy and sad anniversary, that it meant more to me, young me, than I ever realized. It was a night on which generations commingled to celebrate and commemorate life and love, a night when Mother Nature intervened, soaking us all with sweet summer awareness of what really matters.

And here we are. Many years later. College happened. Life happened. Beloved creatures have arrived on the scene. A certain beloved creature has departed.

Today. I am full of love and reverence, my soul tinged with a bittersweet ache for what was and a profound affection and admiration for my predecessors in this good, if sometimes cruel, game of love.

Happy Anniversary, I and J! Love you guys.

Happy Anniversary, Mom. I know today won’t be easy, but I also hope it is laced with laughter and marked with memory. Do you remember when he bit your finger? Silly, silly man I love you. Today. Always.

Saturday. Late morning. We arrive at Turtle Pond. Two girls smile and skip. The grass is green and ready for us. Sunshine shimmies above, and around. We find a spot, a good spot, under a big tree. We spread out a blanket, plaid, and sit. We unwrap sandwiches Daddy made. Turkey and cheese. Little ones sip from juice boxes. At lunch with us? A tiny stuffed turtle named Tuck. A little stuffed bunny named Ruby. Lucky guests at our family picnic.

Big girl stands and does the pee dance. I have to go potty! A strong guy, her father, scoops her up. Little girl chants, Coming too! This mother sits on picnic plaid, amid turkey shreds and bread crumbs and watches her creatures go. Little legs wrapped around a broad and tapering torso, feet kicking, hands flailing, dangling turtle and bunny. Bye bye, Mommy! Sweet words trail them.

Soon, they are back. And big girl is wet with tears. Her turtle is gone. Went swimming in a feces-coated Central Park public toilet. Was rescued briefly only to make a swift plunge into the trash. This girl is inconsolable. She collapses onto this mother’s lap, shaking with sobs. And we stand and walk to the dock. To see the ducks and the turtles and the life.

We will get a new Tuck, this mother says, foolishly says. It will be exactly the same.

Behind her simple and desperate words of reassurance, this one mother wonders about something big. Loss. It will happen. It will happen with things more consequential than tiny turtles. It will happen with things and creatures and places that cannot be replaced. This mother knows this, and deeply, because she has lost things. Important things.

But for now. This is hard enough. A little girl quaking at the loss of a friend. An untimely goodbye. A small and cruel snapshot of what’s to come.

She is okay. I am okay.

(Are we ever really okay?)

It’s just a toy turtle. It’s not just a toy turtle.

(Is it ever just a toy turtle?)

I love you, Toddler. You are my brilliant babe, so strong and so sensitive, keen already to the lessons life has no choice but to teach us.

R.I.P. Tuck (#1)

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• Did you lose any cherished toys as a child? Have your children lost anything dear to them? How did you deal?
• Do you agree that life is a constant lesson in love and longing and loss?
• Do you think Husband did the right thing by tossing Tuck? (At first, I thought the poop-slicked little guy should have been brought home for a bath.)
• Do these tiny tragedies make you think about the bigger instances of loss in your life or is it just me?