My daughter has just found out she is a girl.
It hasn’t been an instant discovery.
There was the fascination with her hands when she was around six months old, with the constant inspection of her fingers. And then came the perusal of her feet and examination of each toe. Each day brings a new discovery of body part, which occupies my 15 month old daughter for a good few hours.
And now we appear to have moved on to a new area.
It started a month or so ago. In the bath Frog looked down and – bam! There it was. Sitting right between her legs. Almost as if it had been there all the time and she’d only just noticed it. She prodded it for a while before moving on to another task. And it looked like she’d forgotten about her new discovery.
But then yesterday the three year old boy from next door came round to play. After around an hour he whipped off his trousers and pants before jumping up and shouting, “Ta daaaa!”
And Frog was fascinated, not to mention a little bit peeved. She couldn’t take her eyes off the new display in front of her. It’s fair to say she was green with envy.
Later that night, Frog spent a good twenty minutes examining her own in-between-the-legs area (I’m aware that is a rubbish way to refer to it – we still haven’t decided on a “name”). And then she cried. And cried and cried and cried.
If she could talk I know she’d be wailing, “But I don’t want to be a girl!”
And so, at 15 months old, my child has already learned one of life’s cruel lessons. I now have to try to persuade her why being a girl really isn’t so bad afterall.
This could be tricky.