Here’s the thing: I really, really don’t like pink. I’m not into princesses, dance or diamonds. I wouldn’t say I’m a tomboy, but I do love my neutrals. Speaking of muted colors—I have probably used […]
Here’s the thing: I really, really don’t like pink. I’m not into princesses, dance or diamonds. I wouldn’t say I’m a tomboy, but I do love my neutrals. Speaking of muted colors—I have probably used the word “neutral” one too many times since becoming pregnant. The clothes I picked for my baby girl are all yellow, beige or gray. Her nursery is also bluish-gray with accents of yellow and green. After swimming through a sea of pink stork and glittery Etsy invitations, even the shower invites are gender-neutral, and that’s how I like it.
Part of my gender-neutral-craze is because I hope to reuse a lot of these items for another pregnancy (if I’m so lucky!). But the other part of this obsession with the non-pink is a little bit deeper rooted. I would like to say that I have nothing against pink, or purple, or polka dots. I want to be clear as a self-proclaimed feminist: There is absolutely nothing wrong with being feminine. And if my baby girl wants to wear tutus and tiaras all day, every day, she is free to do so! I’m realizing that my love of neutrals stems from my desire for what I can best describe as a “blank canvas baby.”
I wrote in a previous blog about how excited I am to see what traits she will pick up from Darrin and I and which she will inherently have all on her own. I guess I want her life to also be a blank canvas. As a mommy, I want to try my best to nourish and provide for her without pushing my own agendas upon her. I want her to view the world herself for herself, and to give her the opportunity to decide who she is. Not to be too political here, but things like gender roles, race, religion—all those things that make us who we are—terrify me.
When I look down at my belly and I see her moving and making her journey to life, I think of how innocent and at peace she is. How she hasn’t been tainted by the world, and what the world’s preconceived notions of her are from the moment she takes her first breath in it. In my logical mind, I realize that the color pink, or any other petty thing, like what we choose to wear, does not dictate who we are. I guess my fears truly lie in how I want to protect her from hate and discrimination and the (sad) realization that I simply cannot.
It’s funny how writing clears your mind—that’s what it does for me, anyway. Even having the opportunity to put this idea to paper (or on my laptop screen) has helped me realize how I feel. I think other mamas out there have been in my shoes. It’s very hard to carry around a little human for months and then just subject them to the world. With these thoughts swarming in my head, I realize what my No. 1 job will be when she arrives: My overarching job will be showing her the beauty in the world among the chaos—and how she will come about choosing her own colors to adorn her individual canvas.