BEING A GIRL

Dear Spike:

You’ve vomited on the back of my neck. You’ve relieved yourself on my shirt. You’ve spit, puked, peed and pooped in colors and consistencies that would make Jackson Pollack envious.

I’ve lost sleep, missed work, ignored friends and forgotten — sometimes for days on end — to shower.

I think I’ve been a pretty good sport. They say no one is ever really ready to be a parent, but I can honestly say that nothing’s come up for which I haven’t felt at least passingly prepared.

Until this evening.

With just a few days to go before you turn six months old, you’ve found your...

...um, your...

...I mean, you’ve discovered...

...oh, Lord Baby Jesus Away in a Manger, help me...

...you now know where to find your...

...err...

...the place where...

...that is, the thing with which...

...oh bother.

I’m not squeamish. And I’m not embarrassed by anatomy — or at least, I didn’t think I was.

If you were a boy, I think I’d be proud

“Damn right, young man,” I’d say. “That’s your penis. Good for peein’ and procreatin’ — just not at the same time. Use it with gusto.”

Heck, I might even have snapped a photo.

But although I know there’s no reason to think about penises any different than...

...va...

...v-v-va...

...OK, here goes...

...vaginas (there I said it — and yes, that was tough!)...

...the truth is that there’s still a lot of baggage that goes with being a girl in this world — a lot of things that, by virtue of having one set of plumbing over another, you’re going to have to put up with that your friends Miles, Conrad, Michael, Jack and Brett just won’t have to.

Maybe that’s why I call you Spike. And why I dress you in skull-and-crossbone onesies. And why, whenever your mother’s not looking, I put your hair up in a Mohawk.

Maybe that’s why I’m so anti-pink.

Except, the thing is, you look really good in pink. And you’ve got a beautiful little girl’s name. And you look absolutely darling in the little dresses that your grandparents got for you.

And while you don’t really have much in the way of hair at the moment, I’m sure you’re going to grow a long, thick mess of it — just like your mom’s — and I’m sure it’s going to look very, very pretty.

Sigh.

And someday, I suppose, you’re going to look pretty for someone other than me. And in ways that I’m simply NOT going to appreciate.

There I go again. All you did was reach down during your bath. And here I am sitting on the porch with my shotgun.

Sigh.

I should be proud. This is simply another step in your development. Like laughing, crawling and eating solid foods.

You’re a little girl. And today you discovered part of what makes you a little girl.

Yes, I should be proud.

OK, so here goes...

“Damn right, young woman. That’s your vagina. Use it with gusto.”

But not until you’re 32.

Love,
dad