Thursday, 22 January 2015

An Open Letter to The Hater of All Things Pink and Magical

You don't know me, which is perfectly fine as I pride myself on the fact that I don't associate with such hateful people as yourself. I'm sure you've guessed by now that I've read your terrible excuse for satire, and like many other readers, I have something to say about it.

My mother has always said that she and our dad are the only ones allowed to say anything bad about their children. They and they alone allowed to roll their eyes at something we say. They can pass judgement on the level of clean that our rooms (and now houses) are. They can tell us how bad we look in an outfit, they can say they don't like our hair, they can tell us we are wearing too much makeup. But if anybody else makes a negative comment about us to our parents, they go into full on mama and papa bear mode. My father might not be the warm fuzzy type, but he is absolutely the "rip your face off if you speak badly of my child" type.

Now that I am a mother, I get it. There are nights when Liam won't sleep, and there are days when Avery whines about everything you could possibly imagine (and things you might not imagine). But I am the only person allowed to comment on the negative aspects of my children because I am their mother and I love them unconditionally in spite of the fact that I am exhausted and running out of patience. I know them. I know them in a way that you will never have the privilege of knowing them, and so I am the only one allowed to make any type of judgmental comment.

With that being said, I'm not going to bore you with how Avery loves Batman just as much as she loves princesses and all the other parts of her that are not pink related, because I know you don't give a shit. I know you're sat there all smug, probably proud of the stir you've caused with your disgusting words spewed all over the internet. I'm just here to tell you that you don't get to judge my child (or anyone's), and you will not change the world with what you've said. Nobody will stop wearing pink because of you. Nobody is going to read what you've said and become "enlightened". Nobody is going to burn their daughter's princess dresses or fairy wings.

Nobody needs your approval. I sure as hell don't. Not only did my "blonde-haired, blue-eyed little white girl" wear a pink princess dress to daycare today, but I booked a family vacation to Disney a couple of days ago so that she could meet the princesses that she so adores.

I know.

I hope you have a bucket close to catch all the vomit that is probably spewing from your mouth right about now.

I will not for one second be ashamed of my little girl's love of pink, because she chose to love that color. And I'll be damned if I don't go out of my way to find the one princess doll that she wants and order it online. Because she is so lucky to live in a place where she can make her own choices at the tender age of 3, and I feel privileged to be able to afford to buy her something that will make her happy. And if she loved blue and was obsessed with trucks, I would roll with that the same way.

We have a son too. He also, despite the fact that my husband and I both have dark hair, has blonde hair and blue eyes. He also plays with princesses and loves his big sister's doll house. Maybe he's playing with them because he sees Avery playing with them. Maybe he's playing with them because he likes princesses. Who knows? He's only 14 months old. I do, however, know that if he does, I'll be proud of him. Because he's my child. And I don't base how much I love my children on what they look like, what they wear, or what they play with. If that is how you decide how much to love your own child, that's your problem. And that is a rough problem to have.

If you ever see us in the street and Avery has on one of her many beloved tulle dresses, feel free to hate her. And feel free to hate me even more for buying it for her. Because I don't give two shits about how much hate you let into your life. That's your burden, not mine. I love my children enough that they don't need you to even like them. I love them enough, just as they are, for all the hate you have in your entire body.

They will never read your words. They will never know you existed. You will never affect them.

Your article has absolutely pissed me off, but after I write this, I'll feel better. You will live your life enraged by such a simple, insignificant thing, and I will move on and love my beautiful children. I will love my friend's children. I will love the children who I treat at work. None of these little girls will ever need any approval from you, so feel free to hate them. Fill your boots.

As a final note, Webster's Dictionary defines satire as "a way of using humor to show that someone or something is foolish, weak, bad, etc: humor that shows the weaknesses or bad qualities of a person, government, society, etc. "

Your use of satire is almost as bad as your attitude. Nobody is laughing.


Amy Donovan said...

Hurray to you! I am as thrilled to read this as I am that you wrote it. Shame on her.

Anonymous said...

Well said Momma....Kudos to you for nailing it!