When I was single, I scoffed at mothers who overdid the ribbons-and-frills stuff. No girly stuff for my future daughter, I swore. No all-pink ensemble, no dressing her up like she was one big meringue.
Call it the universe mocking me, but today, I have one kikay of a daughter. Her wardrobe is mostly pink, with a sprinkling of purple and the occasional powder blue. She is so into Barbie and the Disney Princesses. She raids her cabinet for constant "wardrobe" changes, making her nanny wail at the pile of laundry.
It is my youngest sister who must have absorbed most of the kikay blood in the family. When she found out that she was having a daughter, she painted the nursery walls Tinkerbell green and baby pink. She brought in unmistakably girl layettes, just stopping short of swathing the entire room in gossamer drapes.
Alas, Sam is no 100% girl. Ribbons trigger fits of hysteria, and just the thinnest film of after-bath lotion prompts her to yell "tanggalin, tanggalin." The kid is no fancy dresser. Skirts are okay, but dresses are a no-no. She doesn't like pink, either. Pink is for Ate Gianna: for Sammy Girl, it's yellow.
To mark Sam's 2nd birthday, the mom threw a princess-themed party. She went through the hassle of commuting to Legazpi to buy just the right party attire and spent two days convincing the kid that the dress is wearable.
No success there, though. And so the kid who is no princess showed up at her party in a yellow skirt, a Tweety shirt and, yes, pink rubber shoes.
This just goes to show that we can't force our kids to be just like us. Of the same mold,perhaps. But entirely different.