For the most part, my brother and I shared gender neutral toys. We each had a Cabbage Patch Kid: mine a girl and his a boy, but from what I can remember, everything else was geared toward both of us. As we got older, the toys began to segregate and were more and more defined by gender. I with my pink and my brother with his blue. It’s just the way it was. It was an unspoken social calamity for a male child to be seen with anything remotely shaded in a feminine colour for he would be labeled: Gay. Homosexual. Fag. A fairy.

Enter the POWER! COLOURS!; a sign of the times changing. More men were, and still are, seen in brighter more supposed “feminine colours”: lavender, pink, baby blue (which I might add I find very attractive on a man).  It’s more than acceptable and doesn’t carry the sigma of being of the homosexual variety. With most.

The men in my life (read: husband, brother and father) are comfortable with the colours and such, but still very much have the unrelenting belief that dolls are for girls. Boys do not play with dolls.

I, on the other hand, am a firm believer that an object such as a plastic doll cannot and would not determine the sexual orientation of a human being: be it a female or male.

Mike and I have had many discussions which have ended on the verge of a fight because Carter has asked for the Mariposa Barbie Doll for Christmas.

I’m all for it and he’s against it - obviously - and we are both so very adamant out or respective positions that I am on the brink of losing my mind because I am so disgusted with the fact that such an insignificant item, such as a Barbie doll, has caused such an uproar between us. It’s a fuckin’ chunk of plastic that I am willing to buy just to prove my point.

Mike’s concern is partly of the perception people will have of our child, the teasing he could possibly endure, because he has a doll. What do I think of that? He’s THREE! The children at daycare wear tiaras, princess outfits and carry dolls. Girls and boys. I highly doubt that they are going to make fun of a Barbie doll but instead, try and take it for themselves.

The other significant worry he has is that it will turn our son gay. (Is it bad that I even cringe while writing that and feel a touch of embarrassment for my husband?) Playing with a doll will inevitably mean that our son will become homosexual. (I can’t even write it without rolling my eyes.)

[Mike is not a "gay basher" by any means; I wouldn't even classify him as a homophobic person. I'll say that he tolerates it. (Even though that sounds horrible. Tolerates it. Gah!)]

I am very open about my appreciation of any sexual orientation. It’s a personal decision and does not affect myself or my personal way of life. I believe love is love and everyone deserves to have love in their lives whether they find it with someone of the same sex or not. I am all for gay marriage, same sex couples, same sex adoptions, what have you - so I find it very difficult to see the logic of the other side of the spectrum.

Which leads me to Proposition 8.

Proposition 8 is an initiative measure on the 2008 California General Election ballot titled Eliminates Right of Same-Sex Couples to Marry. If passed, the proposition would “change the California Constitution to eliminate the right of same-sex couples to marry in California.” A new section would be added stating “only marriage between a man and a woman is valid or recognized in California.”

source: wikipedia

I could go on and on about how those of a same sex relationship deserve the same rights as those in a traditional man-and-woman relationship, but the real issue is civil rights.

The right for a person to make a choice.

The right for a person to choose.

The rights of a person regardless of their sexual orientation.

It’s about Human Rights.

To put it as simple as I possibly ever could:

Let’s review:

A doll is a doll is a doll.

A child is born free and oblivious to hate, racism and prejudice.

It is our job, as parents, as adults, to keep our children open minded and accepting.

It’s the only way we’ll ever win the battle against hate.

I saw you as we entered the store. One child up front in the seat and the older one in the back, standing. I thought to myself: I hate when people do that. I didn’t think much of it after that, after all I’ve seen it so many times now.

I busied myself with my children and our own shopping, I saw you pass by again. You were distracted with the little baby up front while your older boy stood hands-free in the back, to which I winced. As I return my attention to my children and the snowsuits, I heard it.

The unmistakable sound of flesh hitting tile. The thump! of bone meeting a hard surface.

I heard you gasp and loudly whisper: Oh God!

My heart sank.

As you scooped up your son, I resisted the urge to run to you.To scoop you up and tell you that he’s all right. I wanted to bad to say that we’ve all be there at one time or another. To say, it’s not your fault. Don’t blame yourself.

But I did nothing.

I was worried you were about to cry as your voice cracked while inspecting your son for boo boos. I fought so hard not to go to you. If it had been me and a stranger approached? I would have begun bawling; I didn’t want that for you.

As your son buried his face in your neck I wanted so much to sweep up my own offspring into my arms  and shush him too, though he wasn’t even crying, but running around somewhere out of sight.

Let’s go home, you said as you took your child into your arms while he continued to whimper, the younger one starting to cry in the shopping cart.

I busied myself so you didn’t see me watching, thinking I was judging when I most certainly was not. I was feeling for you. I was hurting for you and I was wanting to turn back the clock ever so slightly so I could be there and stop it from happening.

I’m sorry.

Hudson and I have a very different relationship in comparison to what Carter and I shared; I now see that maybe my urge for him to grow up and experience things overcame the loving and bonding we could (or should) have shared. Maybe I could have held him more, even played together more? He’s a completely healthy, outgoing and super independent toddler that I don’t think I would do anything differently.

But once night would fall, I couldn’t think of anything else but getting some alone time before I went to bed. Once 9pm came I was done but all he wanted to do was cuddle and be held, all I wanted to do was crash on the couch and watch some mindless television.

By four months we had begun The CIO Method.

Yes, Ferberization, The Ferber Method… Cry It Out.

In less than 2 weeks, Carter was sleeping through the night and is still a great sleeper, minus some nights of bad dreams and needing to pee, of course.

Hudson is a completely different story which I could kind of sense from day one. He’s emotional, craves touch and very mellow. He’s very much a sensitive soul.

This has brought on Attachment Parenting - the holding, the wearing (only sometimes though since I don’t really enjoy it), the tenderness, the constant cuddles and the co-sleeping.

(We did and do use Attachment Parenting with Carter just not to the extreme I’ve noticed with Hudson.)

What could you hate about that you’re wondering?

Well, I don’t really hate; in fact, I kinda like the loving, cuddly happy baby part, but the co-sleeping? I could totally do without.

I am in no way knocking those who do, nor those who have a family bed. It’s just not my cup of tea is all: I like my space when I’m sleeping and having a baby in the bed freaks the shit out of me to be frank. We tried the bassinet beside the bed thing and it wasn’t working; it’s come to the point where I’ve put the guest bed in the nursery and moved in with Hudson where we sleep together.

(Sounds so wrong. Hi, I’m 12.)

But I don’t sleep well because I am afraid of rolling and smothering baby forgetting that he’s in the bed with me (which has nearly happened already!).

For the most part, it’s working alright I just miss being in my bed with my blanket stealing, kicking and snoring husband.

Weird. I know.

I’m ready for Hudson to be in his own bed and me in mine, but I need help getting there.

I know how to do the crying it out thing, that’s not the trouble. But what I don’t know what to do about is teaching the baby to cry it out with a toddler sleeping in the room adjacent to the nursery. Carter’s a decent sleeper, but I know if he heard his brother losing his shit next door, he’d be up in a shot.

Enlighten me with your assvice.

(Guess it’s not really assvice when I ask for it, is it?)

But! I don’t want to hear about how he’s too young to cry it out and how mean it is, because it’s not and it works and we’re happy with it and I’m hating co-sleeping: I’d rather my baby cry then be rolled on.

Now play nice.

Children we see in our everyday lives are going to bed hungry, attending school without breakfast and eating what they can from the local food banks which are gravely in need of imperishable foods. These children don’t have clothing acceptable for the harsh Canadian winters or are not able to afford uniforms required for some school districts.

One out of six: that’s four of my son’s classmates. Four children I see on a daily basis that are unable to receive the very basic care that a child is entitled.

BlogHers Act Canada is participating in Blog Action Day 2008, please stop by and show your support!

xox

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