Ivy is 9 months old. This seems like a serious milestone, for the whole “You’ve been living outside of me as long as you were in me” reason, but also I guess because in 3 short months we will be celebrating her first birthday. I could write a post about the last 9 months, and how much Ivy has changed, and how much we have changed and how incredibly amazing family feels.
But instead I want to address something that has sort of been plaguing me since that day when I was 20 weeks pregnant and the ultrasound technician told us “It’s a girl!” and typed ‘female’ on the ultrasound picture.
It’s just….well… in a world full of pussycat dolls, Heidi Montag’s and really shitty stories like Rhianna’s (and the millions of stories likeher’s that go unreported or don’t garner the media attention because it’s not happening to a celebrity) I panic a little every time I think that my husband and I are responsible for raising a girl to become a strong smart woman.
It’s not that I’m worried about fucking up my daughters life or anything. I come from a strong enough family base that I’m not worried about skills I’ll need when suddenly it’s not just about when to start solid foods or potty training, but about teaching social skills and morals and all of that fun stuff. It’s not even so much about giving the whole sex talk or dealing with a rebellions teen trying her damnedest to defy her parents (Uh, hi mom and dad!).
And I know that we don’t have to go it alone, and I know that my daughter has plenty of role models, both within the family and (hopefully)out there in the world it’s just a bit unnerving. I just hope that in a world full of really negative influences on young women our really positive one can outshine everything