My badass kid fell yesterday at the playground. She was running on the concrete area and bam, went down. She let out a cry and I told her it was gonna be OK. She cried some more and I got down to her level and noticed her knee was bleeding a tiny bit. I didn't say anything about the knee but I did scoop her up to hold her and tell her that I know that she fell but that it was going to be OK.
She wiggled out of my hug a second later to get back to playing. Cuz she's badass like that. Heh. :) When we got home and she was eating, I noticed the scrapes were on both knees. Oops. I still didn't bring any attention to it, but I did have to get photos.
After her bath, I quickly dabbed a tad bit of Neosporin on her knees but really, there was nothing there anymore after she soaked for a bit.
All this brings back memories of when I was a kid... and how I used to wear my scrapes and bruises proudly! But I was not a girly girl at all. In fact I hated being a girl when I was a kid. I hated dolls and pink and frilly shit and dresses and the fact that I had to pee sitting down. I wanted to be a boy so bad. Maybe that's why I was so proud to wear my scrapes and bruises? Or maybe it's just a kid thing.
I wonder how Lovie will be when she gets older... how will she react when she gets bigger and badder scrapes and bruises? At 21 months old, she's such a sweet, sensitive one- she cries real tears when the cats fight, for pete's sake! But she also has a side of her that loves to keep doing stuff till she's mastered it- and a little tumble doesn't seem to shake her.
Who knows what tomorrow will bring... I just know that right now, she doesn't see that the world separates Boys from Girls, that Boys are expected to do and act one way, while Girls are to do and act another; she doesn't see Black and White; she sees Little Kid, Big Kid, Baby; she sees Happy or Sad. And while she is a girl and she does like to play with her dolls and she's very sensitive and SO sweet, I refuse to treat her "like a girl." I won't do it. That's not to say I treat her "like a boy." I treat her like the love of my life, the light of my life. I mean, just because she's a girl, does that mean I should've swooped her up into my arms and cried along with her, rushing her home to wash the scrapes and put bandages on them? Pink friggin bandages perhaps?