*My kiddo had his first memorable brush with gender policing.*
Last week, the kiddos and I were watching a movie in our living room strewn with stuffed animals and the occasional Lego. While they watched a movie we’ve already watched at least a dozen times, I tried to finish an assignment on my laptop. (This never really works, and yet, I keep trying.)
The three-year-old stepped closer and closer until he was standing right next to me. He sighed a deep, dramatic sigh and looked at me.
“What’s up, kiddo?,” I asked quietly.
“I’m tired of people asking me about my fingernails,” he said with remarkable frustration.
I closed my laptop and looked at him. His response concerned me. He’s my easygoing, laid back kid who inherited my partner’s easy smile and sense of humor. He doesn’t get frustrated easily, so I knew something was wrong.
“Who asked you about your fingernails?”
“Everybody,” he almost growled.
“My friends and my teachers.”
“What did they ask you?”
“Why my fingernails were painted? Why, why, WHY?,” he noted with a belly flop onto the couch. I looked at his blue fingernails and resisted my own urge to sigh dramatically or growl.