Too Many Bows

I'm certainly not the John Wayne of stay at home dads, but even I have my limits. Back before Dipity began wearing clothes, or even before anyone began buying it for her, I vowed that she would not be one of those girls with wardrobes, rooms, and lives covered in nothing but pink, purple, and the occasional soft yellow. I was determined that she would have blue jeans, sweatshirts, and lots of red and blue. She does wear jeans, and her wardrobe includes green, blue, and red. She wears an awful lot of pink though, and has right from the start. It is hard to stop people from buying pink for a girl. They just don't know any better. The programming is too strong. Once it's in the wardrobe, it's not going to go un-worn. And once pink and its girly brethren made it into Dipity's wardrobe, I found myself aiding and abetting the girly colors cause. She looks good in pink. Plus, before she had a ton of hair, the only way to stop gender confusion was to put her in one of the appropriate colors. However it happened, the bottom line is pink and purple don't bother me anymore. Bows and ribbons though ... My wife's best friend recently bought Dipity an outfit that was pink and pinker. When we opened it I remember thinking how cute it was (at this point I my emasculation is so close to complete that I don't even flinch before I let loose with a "how cute is that," or a "that looks fine, but not with those shoes"). Today I decided to put said outfit on. I went through the negotiations entailed in getting Dipity out of her pajamas and into her outfit, stood back, and gasped. It was very pink, but that wasn't anywhere near as traumatic as the bows. One on each ankle, one on each wrist, and one on each pocket. That's more than one too many. I was shocked, disgusted, and then proud. It was clear that some pocket of manhood had withstood a year of stay at home dadding, even though I entered the experienced with my manhood already quite compromised (I had disagreements with my mother-in-law over the flower arrangements and with my wife over the bridesmaid dresses). It's nice to know that I have limits, that all my anti-gender classification blustering wasn't hot air. I'd get more excited about all this if Dipity didn't still have the outfit on, or if I thought there was a chance I would forbid a repeat wearing. But at least I didn't run out and buy shoes with matching bows. And even though she's standing next to her kitchen, I swear she was playing with a cement truck not a minute before. I would have taken a picture of that, but it's blue and it would have clashed with the outfit.