My 20-month-old is whining like a miniature siren. He’s got his eyes on the all-metal cowboy cap gun that his two older brothers are brandishing. They pull the trigger, and the satisfying clunk of metal echoes in the air. They aim it at imaginary villains, the wall, and sometimes, each other. The guns are tucked into cheap holsters as they gear up for their pretend battles.
Five years ago, I would have never allowed such a spectacle. I was staunchly anti-gun; I believed handguns should be outlawed. I vowed that my kids would never play with guns, especially not handguns, which I viewed as instruments of harm. I thought that letting them play with guns would send the message that they were somehow acceptable, which was just what the NRA wanted. Gunplay, in my eyes, was a slippery slope leading to disaster—after all, isn’t that how toddlers accidentally shoot their siblings? Guns were bad news, plain and simple, and I was determined to keep them away from my kids.
Then came the slow descent into chaos, all thanks to Star Wars. My husband introduced it to our oldest when he was just three. Suddenly, “blasters” were a thing. My son, determined to join in the fun, started crafting them out of Duplo blocks. These makeshift weapons soon became a source of chaos, scattering Duplo pieces across the house.
When outside, he found sticks and pointed them at everyone, declaring, “Pew, pew, pew!” with an innate sound effect that seemed to come from his very core. The size of the stick didn’t matter; he had a blaster in his mind. And in a futile attempt to control the situation, I told myself I couldn’t keep taking the imaginary guns away. “Fine,” I thought, “they can have blasters—but they can’t aim them at real people. Only at the imaginary bad guys.”
My best mom friend made a similar rule, and during our playdates, we spent our time reminding our sons to aim their elaborate Duplo blasters at the “bad guys” instead of each other. “No shooting your friends!” I insisted. Of course, we knew that upstairs, when we weren’t looking, they were probably directing their blasters at one another.
Despite our best intentions, we slowly started using the term “gun.” “No guns pointed at people!” became a mantra, repeated endlessly. Yet, we never sat down to have the discussion we needed. Eventually, we just threw in the towel. Now our kids were running around, fabricating guns out of anything they could find—Duplos, sticks, even swords. They aimed at each other, gleefully shouting “pew!”
The inevitable finally happened when my three-year-old scored a reward for using the potty. We found ourselves in a charming little store, and instead of going to Target for a toy dinosaur he had been eyeing, he spotted a cowboy cap gun. I knew it wasn’t a $30 dino, but I let him carry the gun to the register. The look on his face as he opened it in the car was priceless. Just like that, a real toy gun entered our home.
I’m still not completely sold on this new dynamic. The gunplay still makes me uneasy, but to their credit, they predominantly “shoot” at imaginary villains. We’ve talked about what to do if they ever encounter a real firearm. I still advocate for strict gun control, and I’ve realized that sometimes our parenting choices don’t align with our political beliefs. Perfection isn’t always possible, and sometimes it means letting your kids aim at each other. And you know what? That’s perfectly fine.
If you’re looking for more insights about home insemination, check out this blog post. And for anyone interested in the science behind it all, this resource is a great place to start. Also, if you’re considering a home insemination kit, BabyMaker has some excellent options worth checking out.