Polka Dots

I whispered to my sleeping Aeriadne today, “I have always wanted a little girl like you.”

It’s true. I have.

I never owned a Barbie, but how I wanted one. I found reasons to dislike her after my father said ‘NO’. I wanted a Cabbage Patch doll more than a Barbie. I liked my pretty hairclips – the ones with the flowers and leaves that my aunts didn’t want anymore. They glittered. I remember the first pair of earrings my dad bought me that I chose myself – dangling hearts that shone with crystal Zirconias. I loved getting the hand me downs from my aunt’s cupboards – dresses and skirts. I remember a red dress with a picture of a beautiful Victorian girl in a large flower-decked sunhat. It was a long red dress with tiny white polka dots that I had when I was 6. I wore it until the zipper got stuck. My mother fixed the zipper but when it got spoilt from overuse – she said it was time to move on. I cried. I remember that dress clearly now. And then there was a tee shirt with a picture of another girl on it, another hand me down from an aunt. I used it until it was threadbare. My mother had to throw it away when I was at school one day. Then came the white dress with tiny green polka dots that I cherished. It had an umbrella skirt and puff sleeves, not unlike Snow White’s. My father loved seeing me in it. And I loved wearing it through my teenage years. I had forgotten that dress until this moment.

Those were monuments of my growing up a girl. I realise now that I had held on to them so tightly because they were the only times I was freely allowed my status as a girl. I was scoffed mercilessly by a brother 8 years older, who scoffed at my tears, at my sensitivity, at my being a girl. My mother never stood up for me. Ours was a home hostile to feminity and she was a feminist who believed deep down that the only emancipation for a woman was to compete on equal footing in a man’s world. So I learnt over time that to be of any value and belong, I had to be as good as a boy. I never played with dolls. My aunts were scolded for painting my nails. They tried once and never went there again. My father made sure I stayed away from being ‘distracted’ by feminine objects.

I remember my 10th birthday so clearly. It has always stayed in my memory as my best birthday. I now know why. My mother made me a pink dress with a pink sash. It had tiny red and green, yes, polka dots. They bought me a cake. I had an actual birthday cake. And my father gave me a pretty pink Diary and on its cover was a picture of a girl in Victorian dress holding a parasol. That’s all I remember. But I remember that being the happiest moment in my life. And I realise now it was because my brother had not been there. It was his first year in college and he had gone away. So no one tainted my girly moment and instead the two uncles who were staying with us that year made sure it was a little girl party with their compliments and indulgences. And I had my pink diary to last long after the day ended. It was my prized treasure, a symbol of my identity as a girl in my secret moments.

I have never felt truly comfortable being a girl. Well trained by my parents, I always had a desire to best the boys. And always, the boys knew it and were intimidated. When I fell in love, it was a scary prospect for my parents. The biggest distraction for a girl, they wanted none of it. But my future husband was too strong a flame. He loved all things a girl should be, and he easily summoned and set free that trapped little girl inside me without either of us understanding what the great attraction was. He has been my unwitting knight in shining armour and for that, he has a lifetime of my unwavering love.

I was hesitant to have a son and when my husband announced he only wanted girls, I was thrilled inside. When my daughter was born, I felt like the Christmas present I had always wanted had arrived. I threw myself into loving her. But Aeslinn wasn’t as gentle as I had imagined a girl would be. She wasn’t very interested in all the girly stuff I rolled out and all my girly plans seemed thwarted. Competitive like a boy, athletic like a boy and self-absorbed like a boy – I had a hard time adjusting and accepting her as she grew into a girl I had no idea how to love. But I did adjust and accept, and when my second daughter was born 5 years on, I had no idea that she was the sensitive girl I had been waiting for. Adjusted now to dealing with a masculine approach to life, I had completely forgotten why I had wanted girls.

Aeriadne has had a tough time at home. I have so struggled to love her well. I should have suspected when she grabbed a teddy bear at 6 months old and brought it everywhere, that she was sensitive. I should have suspected when at 8 months her first words were ‘pooh bear’, that she was sensitive. I should have known clearly, when at 15 months she dug out and dragged ALL the soft toys Aeslinn had ignored, onto her bed and declared that her ‘friends’ were sleeping with her from now on – that she was sensitive. But I was too lost in my left brain to make the connection. Aeriadne believes in fairies and princesses and pretty shoes and nail polish and make-up. “Look mommy, a WHOLE SHOP full of make-up!!” she announced two weeks ago when we passed a cosmetic store. She was able to co-ordinate her outfits at 12 months old and yes, cries at the drop of a hat. It IS wearying, all that crying. And it gets on Aeslinn’s left-brain nerves – this sensitive sibling who isn’t left-brained in any way. I realise now that her crying hasn’t annoyed me because it’s loud or frequent. It’s annoyed my left-brain programming. And deep down, it scares me because she reminds me too much of the sensitive child I was, and I realise now that I fear she will be hurt for being ‘girly’ like I was, if she remains so right–brained. Some part of me wants her to ‘shut up!’ before ‘they hear you and come for you too!!’

Aeriadne loves her Godmother. I love her Godmother! My cousin is a girly girl who is a doctor; long ago considered a man-dominated profession. She is independent, strong, capable and stylish in her own right. She played Rapunzel growing up. She cried A LOT growing up. She still loves teddy bears and loves shoes. She buys Aeriadne nail polish. She buys Aeslinn nail polish..even if Aeslinn only wants it as a competitive sport. My cousin is like the Girly FairyGodmother, come into our lives, to get us out of the soot and send us to the ball as Princesses whenever she is in our Orbit. And I love every bit of it, as much as my girls because deep down, I am still a girly girl. And I am tired of being a left-brained girl, fitting into a man’s world out of long ingrained habit.

My father has passed on. I still love him and understand clearly that he didn’t want me to hit a glass ceiling in a man’s world, and that he wanted the best for me. But I also realize now that he grew up in the 50’s and 60’s when it was clearly a man’s world. This is the new millennium. It is no longer a man’s world for my daughters because I am their mother. And unlike my mother who believed feminism was being as good as a man, I believe feminism means being the best woman you can be. If you are left-brained woman, then feel free to be left-brained but judge not your right-brained sisters, who are equally free to be right-brained.

I have a third daughter. She is showing signs of being a blessed balance between her first two sisters. When I first realised how much she looked like a cabbage patch doll on my lap, a lightbulb went on in my heart. Somewhere deep inside was recognition of a dream long forgotten. Aenishea wears dresses like a doll, bats her eyelashes and flirts with grown men. All this at a mere 14 months. Her Godmother, the Girly FairyGodmother doctor, thinks she’s a sassy piece of girl power and her daddy seems to be happy with that description. She has no reason to inherit her grandfather’s fears. Aenishea Nadea means Constant Hope and aptly so. She has brought the light of right-brained feminism back into my life, and in so doing, helped free Aeriadne and provide Aeslinn a dose of feminity she much desires but is unable to establish on her own.

My girls have set me free and to return the favour, I only have one expectation left of them as they grow, the same expectation I have of myself: to live my remaining days being true to who I am so I can finally be the woman I was meant to be.

Today I bought Aeriadne an anklet, the one piece of jewellery I have always worn with a passion..the one piece of jewellery she has hankered after since turning one. It was not only a symbolic act of setting her free to be the girly girl she is, but also my final act of exorcising the ghost of my left-brained childhood and finally claiming my right to be the girly girl I was made to be.

Aeriadne has a favourite dress. And it is white with, yes, small black polka dots.