When my little girl celebrated her third birthday, Grandma, her sister, and Great-Grandma teamed up to gift her a pink wonderland. There was a tiny baby doll, a matching diaper bag, and even a baby diaper! They also included some princess-themed goodies: a tiara, a necklace, a wand (was she a princess or a fairy? The distinction is minor), clip-on earrings, a fancy dress, and, let’s not forget, her very first pair of high heels.
I couldn’t help but watch in disbelief as my little one wobbled across the room in her new heels. She was grinning from ear to ear—was it the joy of her birthday, the attention she was receiving, or perhaps the excitement from these specific gifts? Maybe it was the combination of her new purse, heels, tiara, earrings, bracelet, and necklace that had her over the moon.
In the nature versus nurture debate, I firmly lean towards nurture. I genuinely believe that girls develop an affinity for pink princesses because society tells them to. By age three, this idea is so deeply embedded that there’s no turning back. Tell a little girl that boys can play with dolls, and she’ll think you’re being silly. Conversely, tell a boy that the Cars-themed goody bag belongs to his sister, and he’ll know you’re joking. From the moment they enter the world, we instill these perceptions, and then when they act accordingly, we proudly declare, “See? Girls ARE different than boys! It’s just nature.”
Don’t get me wrong; while I think girls are conditioned to love pink and aren’t born with a tea-party agenda, I’m not overly concerned about it. My daughter looked thrilled in her high heels, and that was what truly mattered at that moment. Just look at her with Great-Grandma, dressing up her new baby doll!
A few days later, I decided to gently approach Grandma about it. “It’s fine to get her these pink princess items,” I suggested, “but let’s try to offer her some balance. If you buy her pink stuff, perhaps add some other non-pink items too? Just to show her that there’s more to life than princesses and dolls.”
I thought I was being reasonable until Grandma replied, “I buy her this stuff to balance your time with her.” Initially, I felt a bit defensive, but then it hit me—she was absolutely right! As a stay-at-home dad, my daughter spends most of her time with me, and what do we do? We play basketball, soccer, go hiking, and build with Legos. There’s nothing “girly” about our time together. I’ve never even put her in a dress during the three years I’ve been dressing her. It’s not intentional; I’m not trying to steer her away from who she wants to be or push her into a mold she doesn’t fit. I enjoy playing sports with my kids, and her being a girl shouldn’t change that.
This was an enlightening moment. Maybe the pink princess phase isn’t something I should resist but rather embrace. After all, it helps maintain the balance I desire for her. When she struts around with her little purse like she’s a celebrity, I can take a step back and allow her that joy. And once she’s done with her little runway show, I can toss a plastic ball at her and watch her giggle as she tumbles, gets back up, and kicks the ball back to me.
Speaking of balance, for her birthday cake, we asked what she wanted, and she simply said, “Princess.” We agreed, but insisted on adding something else to ensure balance. That’s how we ended up with a cake that was both elegant and fun—my girl, the occasionally-princess.
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Summary
This light-hearted article reflects on the experiences of a stay-at-home dad navigating the world of parenting a little girl. He grapples with societal expectations surrounding gender and toys, ultimately realizing the importance of balance in his daughter’s life. The narrative highlights tender moments between family members and the joy of allowing a child to explore different facets of their identity.