WF VOICES
All Gas, No Brakes
Raising a daughter challenges one mom’s idea of femininity
BY KRYSTINA WALES
STÍGUR MÁR KARLSSON /HEIMSMYNDIR/E+/GETTY IMAGES
I t’s almost bedtime. I can tell not by the
time on the clock, but by the behavior of
my 2 1/2-year-old. She gets “loopy” when
she’s tired. After demanding her daddy lay in
our bed with her, while his defenses are down,
she climbs on top of his head, giggling from
deep in her belly as he tickles her and flops
her down on the mattress, where she quickly
scurries back up for more.

They play-fight for five minutes—she
dishes it out as well as she takes it. When
I announce it’s time for pajamas, she half-
allows me to wrestle her into them before
promptly ignoring my request to sit down
quietly for books, instead running into the
office to drag Daddy into her room so they
can shoot hoops before bed.

He obliges, taking the bright orange
plastic ball and pretending to go for a layup
before she sticks a tiny hand out to smack
it away. Blocking his shot, she squeals
with glee and pride. She offers me the ball,
quickly reconsiders and decides to go for
her own dunk, after which she bends her
knees and lets out a guttural tiger growl,
flexing to expose her muscles.

She is my wild girl.

When I found out I was having a girl,
I panicked. I don’t know how to apply
make-up. The only thing I know about
the Kardashians is that their dad was an
Olympic track athlete. Heels frighten me.

The idea of going shopping makes my
heart palpitate. I have difficulty relating
to common gripes women tend to
commiserate around.

But what didn’t cross my mind initially—
and should have—was that I was prescribing
my own societally-ingrained views of wom-
anhood and femininity to a person I didn’t
even know yet. The fact that I am a woman
and have these feelings and affinities didn’t
seem to factor into my notion that my
daughter may, or may not, innately enjoy
the things girls “traditionally” gravitate to.

She was four months old when we
discovered she loved cars. Having inherited
an aversion to naps from her mother, she
needed some coaxing to rest. By happen-
stance, my stay-at-home husband played
the movie “Cars 3,” hoping it would calm
her down. To his surprise, she watched
almost the entire thing.

That was the catalyst that sparked
purchasing a car-shaped Batgirl walker,
“Cars 3” paraphernalia, toy cars she could
push down on and send across our hardwood
floors, a remote-control car and an activity
toy for the stroller shaped like a dashboard.

Every time we revved the engine, her face lit
up. We watched Formula One daily, and my
husband pulled out a steering wheel from
one of his old video games so she could drive
along, spinning the wheel and shifting gears
without our instruction.

I knew having a kid
would change my life,
but I didn’t account
for how much having
a daughter would
change me.

No one believed it until they saw it. My
old-school grandmother assumed, because
I was not drawn to traditionally feminine
things, that I was pushing her into it.

Which couldn’t have been further from the
truth. The fact is, I have a wild girl.

She loves going fast, taking chances,
testing her limits and her boundaries. She
loves to see how high she can jump, how
long she can hold her balance, how fast
she can run, how loud she can scream. My
husband calls it “all gas, no brakes.”
She is also incredibly meticulous and
purposeful. She puts all her toys and books
away before she goes to bed. She is the
cleanest toddler I have ever seen eat. She
gets upset with me when I pick out socks
WashingtonFAMILY.com 11