And sometimes they all wear pink

For our eldest daughter’s first birthday, my husband bought her a truck.  And not just any truck.  An old-school, metal tray Tonka dump truck.

From the moment she opened it, she was in love.  Especially after her father sat her up in the back of it and proceeded to push her around the floor at speed, the pair of them cackling like fiends. 

It wasn’t always a truck, mind you.  Some days, it was a dolly bed.  Other days it was the easiest way to transport a pile of toys from one place to another.  At other times it was an ambulance with injured people (usually teddy bears) in the back.  At one point, it was even a mobile library for a week or so.  And a lot of the time, it was simply a truck.  There were many backing up and tray-lifting noises invented to go with the truck.  She worked out how to sit in the back and roll herself around the floor pretty early on.  She’s heading towards ten now, and her brother is the most likely to be playing with it these days, but she still loves it and calls it “my truck”.

Given the success of the first Tonka toy birthday present, the other two both got one on their first birthday too.  Our second daughter got a front end loader, our son a bulldozer.  Both were (and still are) well-loved, but neither was ever as successful as the truck.  I think it had something to do with the fact that a kid could sit in the tray of the truck and be pushed around or push themselves around.  Something that the girls still do with their brother, who is now perfectly capable of pushing himself around.

My husband buying a truck for our daughter’s first birthday seemed to give a lot of people the idea that he really wanted a son.  An acquaintance even said one day, “Well, would he have bought a dolly as a present if you had a son?”  For the record, my husband bought her a truck because he thought she’d love it, which was 100% correct.  The truck had nothing to do with him wanting a son.  And the answer to the dolly question is yes.  Our son got a doll for his second Christmas, and he wrapped it up and dragged it about everywhere, calling it “my baby”.  He would occasionally sit on the couch and pretend to breastfeed his baby, then swaddle it up and pat it on the bottom until it was “sleeping”, then tuck it into bed (often mine).  His baby is still a popular plaything, and is often pushed around in the back of the truck.  He also has a couple of Barbie-type dolls that he plays with, and it is not uncommon to see him with a Barbie in one hand and a small truck or other vehicle in the other hand.

And then there is the colour thing.  Personally, I don’t like the colour pink.  As a result, I actively encouraged everyone I know to buy my daughters things that were decidedly not pink.  Of course, this means that both my girls adore pink anything, particularly if it’s sparkly.  Over the years, they’ve accumulated pink towels, pink sheets, pink blankets and pink toys, as well as a selection of pink clothes and shoes.  I have become accustomed to the pinkness of our house, and having a son hasn’t changed this.  He had pink towels and sheets for the first year of his life because that’s what we had at home, having been gifted pink baby things when our daughters were born. 

Nowadays, he likes to go through anything (clothes, toys, games) that his sisters have outgrown to decide which things he’d like to keep for himself. And, by his own choice, pink remains in his life.  His bike (acquired from his younger sister) is pink.  His favourite pair of sneakers were originally bought for his eldest sister and are blue with pink stars on them.  He has a pair of unicorn slippers (with extra pink and a few sparkles) that he adores, and some days he’ll tell you that his favourite two colours are “rainbow and pink”.  He probably has more pink things right now than I’ve ever owned in my life.

People told me that I’d notice the difference when I had a son after two daughters, and that is true.  My son is far more physical and boisterous that his sisters are.  What is interesting is how some people treat boys versus girls.  Very few people ever raised an eyebrow at my daughters having trucks and Tonka toys, or thought it was unusual when they would wear clothes from the boys’ section (for their own practical reasons – boys’ shorts have proper pockets for keeping treasures in; boys’ t-shirts have sleeves that cover the shoulders and upper arms, which means better sun protection).  There are, however, occasional comments from others when my son wears his pink-star sneakers, or carries a dolly around with him.  It’s as though it is ok for girls to choose boys’ things, whereas a boy can’t like anything considered ‘girly’. 

Now, even though I don’t like pink myself, that’s got nothing to do with my kids.  If they all want to wear pink, I’m fine with that.  If they want sparkles or dinosaurs or emergency vehicles or unicorns, hoorah.  And if they want pink fairy wings today and a pirate costume tomorrow, all well and good.  And if they decide that the pirate costume needs fairy wings and a sparkly wand, that’s just fine.  Unless someone starts hitting others with the wand.  That’s when I intervene.