Pink or Blue? The tricky path of gender stereotyping.

This post has appeared today over at Mum's Lounge Billboard, alongside other posts from terribly talented Australian bloggers. I encourage you to go check them out, maybe find a new reading love you may never have seen otherwise. Mum's Lounge is exactly what it says - a little corner of online mama goodness. I heart.

“Oh isn’t he cute?” says the lady next to me at the deli.


“He must be teething” says the grandma as we pass in the pasta aisle.

“Aw what a sweetie. How old is he?” asks the woman next in line at the checkout.

I get it a lot, the baby chat. They’re like magnets and people love to stop and talk about them, myself included.

The only thing wrong with this situation is that my baby is actually a little girl.

Sometimes the t-shirts in the boys section are just cuter. Sometimes she’s wearing hand-me-downs. Sometimes a blue outfit is handier on a rushed morning. And it’s interesting to see the reactions of strangers when their social cues are thus mixed.

I was intrigued to hear recently of the Canadian couple who are refusing to reveal the sex of their child, insisting it is not their place to impose stereotypical roles onto it. I like the idea of not boxing a child away into a pigeonhole, but to be honest, this just sounds like a lot of work! Having to double-think everything that comes out of your mouth before you say it sounds like it would be tedious and stressful. I’d be the first person to slip and say “he” needs a bath, or something is in “her” room.

My own experiences with the awkward silence that takes place when the well-meaning commenter struggles to figure out whether my child is a boy or a girl in the appropriate time frame has made me really think about how images help us make sense of our world. Pink and blue clothing seems to help differentiate otherwise very gender-neutral-looking babies, and socially, we are programmed to digest this information and categorise it as part of processing our environment.

Having said that, I don’t always want to buy things that are pink, sparkly and covered in butterflies just to make social interaction easier. It’s either a cupcake or a rocket ship, and sometimes I just want something not so stereotypical. While I appreciate small talk being much less awkward when the topics are clearly defined and easy to read, but life’s so much more than a random supermarket conversation.

Do you tell people when they've mixed up your kid's sex? Or just let it slide to save them embarrassment? Are you annoyed at pink vs blue in kid's clothing stores?

The things I didn't know I wouldn't know.

Miss Veggie Baby has been sick this week. Snotty, dribbly, incredibly out of sorts and not sleeping.

Two nights ago she screamed inconsolably for ages, which is incredibly out of character for her, and I found myself wondering... is it something I did?

And I realised this has been quite a running theme throughout the last six months... is her behaviour from something I've done? Something I haven't done? Are the choices I've made the right ones? Why is she crying like that? Why hasn't she pooped today? Does she hate my cooking? What if?

Given that they can't tell you what is wrong, one is reduced to insane guesswork, leaping further and further into assumptions and musings and plain old guilt.

Was she crying because she was teething? She was immunised the day before, could that have been it? Was she reacting to the eggplant puree she'd had for dinner for the first time? Did her stomach hurt? Was she tired? Was she hungry? Would going for a walk in the fresh air help? Was it because I ate that English mustard when I was 8 months pregnant with her?

Did I put enough sunscreen on her? Is the water too cold for her feet? Should we sit more in the shade? Is it ok if she eats the sand?

That thing hasn't been sterilised, should she put it in her mouth?

Should I really let the cat sleep with her? They love each other so much and he has never hurt her. He just curls up at her feet. They need to co-exist in the same house, should I let them be friends right from the start? Should I lock him in the other room?

Should she be eating a rusk and lying down? She seems to like it. Should she even be eating a rusk at this age? Did I start solids too early? Should I really be buying her pink things? Is she watching too much TV? Should I not have turned the TV on until she was two?

It's been strange for me, as I love researching and I love knowing and I love being in control. I love knowing what to expect, and what to do when it happens. Nobody ever told me I'd spend the rest of my highly-educated life staring at a crying baby and knowing nothing concrete, just going with my gut.

But what if my gut is wrong?

Augh!



A Walk Down Vintage Lane - The Ladies Handbook

One of my favourite things to do besides cook is read. And the older the book, the better. My two loves often combine in antique or vintage cookbooks, which provide a lot of joy, but not a lot of recipes (beef tea, anyone?). I adore the old ads, the sensible advice, the ingenious use of staple ingredients, and just, well, the look of these books. So I decided this year to share some of my collection with you as sometimes they're not just pretty, but downright hilarious, too. It's sweet to look back at what mattered most back then - being an able housewife, a competent nursemaid to ill relatives, creating a warm and loving nest for your family, and 100 ways to make jellied salads. Boy did they love their aspic.

Being as I'm 32 weeks pregnant, I decided to begin with The Ladies Handbook, an all-round useful tome for women getting married, raising families, feeding the families, going through 'the change' and being always on the lookout for economical recipes. It's adorable and it has surprisingly useful advice on pregnancy and labour (they assumed you'd be doing it at home) and how to care for your bonny bairn.



This particular issue was printed in 1947, and it's full title is The Ladies' Handbook of Home Treatment: containing the best modern methods for treatment of women's and children's diseases, with a comprehensive index of symptoms.

Thorough.

Anyhoo, one of my favourite features is this cutting-edge-for-its-time "manikin" of the pregnant female body, showing what goes on inside.




Pretty cool, huh?

 

It also has some pretty graphic drawings of scabies and cancer of the breast, but in the interest of keeping your lunch down, we'll leave those to your imagination.



Ah so that's where those birds and bees stories started...



Now, before we go leaping straight for motherhood, everybody in 1947 knew you weren't doing it solo. So the first chapter helpfully describes how to go about getting yourself married to a respectable man who was going to look after you. We are informed that in choosing a partner for life, there were many things to be considered: one should choose a man of high ideals, noble character and a pure life; a man of sound constitution and good heredity. He should be of suitable age, of pleasing disposition, and one's equal, but not one's superior in social position. He should be a young man of proven worth, not flitting from one position to the other and making a success of none. He should have demonstrated his ability to earn a reasonable living and to provide for the necessities and comforts of a family.

Lucky for me I found such a gentleman before I had been informed of such requirements. Only nobody told me I'd also have to start watching rugby league, listen to punk music ad nauseam and be able to drink like a sailor. Added benefits, let's call them.

Only kidding Veggie Dad, you rule.

Once you've been sufficiently wooed and you've embroidered yourself a lifetime of tablecloths, it's time for the biblical sex-talk. You want babies, you understand how plants reproduce first. Then we'll use these euphemisms to describe what goes on between the starched sheets. Seeds, eggs, nests, a baby is really just like a newly-sprouted dahlia. After leading you in gently, it actually provides some legitimate and correctly-termed information about pregnancy and gestation.

Now, we are reminded that the need of maintenance after marriage of the fight against excessive sexual indulgence is incumbent upon all. (No I'm not making this up). It is a natural instinct, as is thirst and hunger, but as we can careen dangerously into gluttony and drunkenness, as can we dive headfirst into sexual gluttony, which we're told is utterly inescusable.

If you are chaste, clean, pure and morally upright, this shall be your reward:

One is advised to get plenty of fresh air and sunshine as a pregnant woman, and eat sensibly. In fact, we are warned against eating too much animal protein, and to focus on fresh fruits, vegetables, beans and grains, as meat was thought to be taxing on the kidneys. What follows is a helpful section on vitamins and minerals, recipes for laxative treatments and advice on what to wear. It's all much the same as what we are told now, except this interesting contraption: the abdominal belt.



Comfortable, yes?



For those who long for the support of the corset in the latter stages of pregnancy. No need to buy one ready-made, just wrap a towel around yourself, sew on some straps and safety pin yourself into abdominal comfort.

What comes next is the pointy end of the business - "the confinement". Again, much the same as what we're told now, except during the pushing stage, one is required to be bedridden, not getting up for any reason whatsoever. And there is a long list of things that need to be boiled and sterilised and that we'll be unconscious by the time baby arrives, thanks to the miracle of modern painkillers, of which we have no choice but to be given. Oh - and it's strict bed rest for two weeks post partum, eventually getting up here and there during the third week, with the baby only brought to you at feeding time, and no visitors.

I am firmly convinced that is is the reason my grandmother had eight children (Catholocism notwithstanding): she was hanging out for those three weeks where everyone would just leave her the hell alone.



um, cute!



We are instructed as to how to choose a nurse, and what sorts of qualifications and personality traits she should have. She should preferably look like this:



Nightmares? never heard of such nonsense.



Care, bathing, feeding (fried foods and pastry are not suitable for young children, here's a recipe for swede turnip juice) and keeping your child free from illness ensues. Puberty, middle age, and the menopause follows, and then is all neatly tied up with descriptions of just about every illness concievable, and some first aid tips. One hell of a comprehensive handbook for a lady indeed. Her and her family's physical and mental welfare are considered and advice helpfully given. Perhaps one of the coolest things in this book is the inscription at the start, a reminder to all:

THEY say that man is mighty,

He governs land and sea,

He wields a mighty sceptre

O'er lesser powers that be;

But a mightier power and stronger

Man from his throne has hurled,

For the hand that rocks the cradle

Is the hand that rules the world.

-Wm. Ross Wallace.

Now try to stop thinking of Rebecca deMornay...