So I’m sitting on the comfy chair, nursing my mostly sleeping toddler when Jessie and her buddy Glennys come flying out of the bedroom. There’s a bug in there, and they had to evacuate. So I say, go kill it. They both explain that they aren’t going to do it, and I take a deep breath and say “your two year old brother can kill a bug, and you want to tell me that you two are such wimpy, wussy girls that you can’t even kill a bug?” (completely ignoring the fact that I make Marc kill the bugs all the time – classic do as I say, not as a do moment). But anyway, I’m giving them a little feminist lecture – and Sam sits up, still groggy and half asleep, all sweaty and tired, and toddles off, gets himself a shoe and handles the situation.
Are gender roles really that ingrained? Or it is my fault? Is it because Marc kills all of my bugs? Will I have to start killing my own to make sure that my daughter can handle herself? And what about my boy? He’s just two, already cast in the role of hero and savior.
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