For the Love of Trains

I used to marvel at M's boyishness. How do they know, these boys, how to push trucks and crash cars? Before I had M, I used to believe fervently in the genderization of children. However, despite having girly babies and animals and (some) unisex clothes, and even given the fact that M is quiet to begin with, he still ended up as a truck/train/car kid. Some things can't be helped, I presumed.

Until now--genderization, schmenderization. K loves cars. Loves to push them across the floor as she scoots along behind. "Truck" was one of her first words. And now it's trains. Thomas the Train, specifically. She walks around with the crusty old Thomas board book and begs to have it read. All the time. Even when eating. Hence the crust.

Here's the kicker: she knows Thomas. And Percy. And Bertie, even though he's technically a bus instead of a train. She points to them, now with a single index finger as of yesterday. And she kisses them. Bends over with the biggest smile and plants one right on Thomas' flat cardboard face. When you laugh and ask her to kiss Mommy or Daddy, she looks at you blankly, as though to say, Why ever would I do that?

I know, it's because there's all these car and trucks and trains lying about. She watches big brother play with them and can't help but become equally infatuated. And maybe Miss Rambunctious Climber/Runner/Sass-stress has a little bit of boy in her to begin with. Still, it's kind of reassuring, this time, to remember again that kids do their thing, always. Whatever made me think that I could so narrowly define it, even with such a giant theory as genderization, has at last been replaced by a sense that there's no need to define it beyond M will be M and K will be K. If only I could just remember to let D be D.