My first daughter was in my womb dreaming of feather boas and purple play shoes while I was buying action figures and trucks. When she danced in my womb it was to the rhythm of Sharon Olds' poetry. I read to her from The Book of the City of Ladies by Christine de Pizan not Cinderella. By the time she was full term my uterus was so full with stories of powerful women that there was hardly any room left for amniotic fluid.
My daughter was born genetically predisposed to Barbie and everything that sparkles. All her gender neutral toys were tossed to make room for a pink play kitchen and shopping cart.
I planned to shape her into a jean loving mini feminist.
She is bedazzling my inner feminist instead. I am learning that a girl can win a mud fight in a multi tiered dress and have mud to spare for pretend chocolate muffins. She is wild, fierce and girly. Her femininity knows no boundaries. I watch in adoration as she defines herself from scratch.
Now all I need to do is relax and try not to mess it up.