Last Christmas, when I was trying to think of tasteful yet developmentally appropriate toys that Otis might enjoy (cuz that’s the kind of dictatorial parents we are), I thought a lot about buying Otis a doll. Not just any old stuffed animal, mind you, since I’m sort of against filling our house with tons of those, but a baby doll, since I wondered if he might enjoy parenting his own baby. I was feeling somewhat sensitive, though - in my attempt to be gender neutral in my parenting, was I going too far and pushing “girl”-y toys on my son? I mean, we all know that I’ve been known to dress Otis in an anti-boy fashion that borders on girlishness (guilty here and with this hairdo, for example).
I consulted my go-to expert, Lynna. No, no, it’s good, she assured me. Kids need these kinds of toys to reenact activities from their lives, try out naughty behavior, and explore emotions. I mean, it doesn’t need to be a doll, per se, it can be an animal or whatever. But I don’t think it’s bad to give him a doll.
So he received Imma as a Christmas present. What’s not for a left-leaning, middle class parent to love (and really, I do love her)? I mean, she’s got colored skin, ethnic clothing and even little stitched nipples, for Pete’s sake! He loved her and slept with her and talked about her, and I felt relieved, even vindicated.
But then swept into our household the tyranny of the animals. Animals big and small, plush and plastic. We couldn’t do anything or go anywhere without animals. At any given time, there are at least four different animals made from at least three different materials tucked into the recesses of my purse. Zebras and hippos fought, tigers got angry, giraffes got thirsty and had to drink some of his milk, elephants had to turn off the lights when he went to sleep. I’m sure many of you are familiar with this behavior. Imma was cast aside, my best intentions along with it.
But there was one thing we couldn’t quite figure out. He’s finally developed the dexterity to open and close zippers well, and he’s become obsessed with opening and closing the zippers on his little play sofa and tucking his little plastic animals inside. He would tell me that they were sleeping. Fifth Aunt Grandma K finally figured out the mystery this past weekend while they were playing together: he would tuck one animal into the sofa and declare it sleeping; then Fifth Aunt Grandma K, as one of the other animals, would approach and declare sleep time over; then the animal would be unzipped and come out. He’s reenacting his own sleep, and the zippered sofa is his sleep tent! Maybe it seems a little obvious now, but it was such a revelation. I still shake my head at the fact that kids will do exactly what the development experts tell you they’ll do.
Anyone else ever have one of these surprising revelations from their kids’ play?
