the b-word

ok, so i can’t let the day go by without saying that i’m not having a cupcake along with the rest of america to celebrate barbie’s birthday. a doll that in human form would have the measurements of 36-18-33, causing her to lack the requisite 17 to 22 percent of body fat required to menstruate. my daughter(s) will be swayed enough from the moment they walk out the door each day. between classmates, movies, magazines, and other forms of media it will all be enough to make them wonder whether they should reconsider eating those last few bites of leftover pancakes in their lunches. i don’t want my girls to wonder why they don’t look like hannah montana or whomever it is girls are copying these days. as much as it sucks, i want them to have their periods. i want to prepare them so that they don’t wonder what life has in store for them, good or bad, or at least they don’t have to learn by reading are you there god, it’s me margaret (though i do hope they read that book). i want them to know where i stand so that even if they disagree they can one day confidently know where it is they stand. so for me that means that maybe their appearances come across as a little less cutey matchy-matchy and a little more wrinkled thinky-thinky. and i’m sure they will play with barbies at someone else’s house and that’s fine. but it won’t be because i spent my money on a plastic doll whose name has become synonymous with all things material and has the microscopic clothes and plastic mansion to prove it. but show me a post c-section barbie with a stomach and boobs that are equally droopy and i’ll show you a woman in line at walmart.