This morning, as I fought the urge to wake up to enjoy a few more minutes of sleep, I heard the pitter-patter of little feet nearing my room. When Munchkin walked up to my bed and indicated she needed the bathroom I knew my last-ditch attempt to sleep was over.

I potty trained Munchkin a few weeks ago and as the days go by with a portable potty in one hand and a change of clothes in the other, I am reminded that I've gone through it--and many other rites of passage--before. Just like when I potty trained Monkey 2 1/2 years ago, Munchkin was very ready, but I had to train myself to manage an almost-two-year-old without diapers. The joy of not having to change diapers is brought down by the fact that I have to help Munchkin use the bathroom at all times, be it at 6:30am or when she's zippered into her pajamas for the night. 


Another rite of passage was getting rid of a few items which indicate that my kids are growing up. I got rid of our double stroller now that Monkey is old enough to walk long distances. We got rid of all the remaining baby clothes so we now have nothing for the under-two set at home. All the tiny wash-clothes and baby-sized blankets have been given away and I'm slowly weeding out toys Munchkin has outgrown.  

The biggest change I made was to get rid of the crib where Munchkin was sleeping. Even though I feel as though my family is complete and that I'm satisfied with the newborn snuggles I got from my two kids, I was a little sad to take apart the crib and donate it. Munchkin got to move into Monkey's toddler bed and Monkey joyfully moved into his loft bed. 

Thankfully, another change I've seen before is that Munchkin is settling down a bit, just as her big brother did. She's stopped throwing food, but started searching the fridge when she's hungry. She has also stopped climbing onto tables, but started jumping off every ledge in sight. She frequently says "Watch this!" whether she's taking a jump or attempting a somersault. She also likes to mimic her big brother whether she's trying to open doors like he does or leaping like Superman.

Even though Munchkin wants to be like her big brother, I can see that she is also different. She's fearless in ways he wasn't at her age and not quite as shy. I'm enjoying seeing Munchkin develop her vocabulary and her opinions and praying that the terrible twos don't prey upon us. Even though I have a good idea of what the next year will bring, amidst the familiar changes and rituals I'm sure Munchkin will surprise me.

Most days, after I pick Monkey up from school, he and Munchkin do some combination of walking, scooting or sitting in a stroller. But on certain days there are two boys--with their parents--who don't just walk, they run, jump, dive and climb all the way home. The walk home is rather long and somewhat tedious, especially for a four-year-old dying for a playdate. When we spot these spirited friends, I take Monkey's backpack off his slim shoulders and say, "¡Anda!" meaning, "Go!" in Spanish. Immediately Monkey sprints after the boys as they climb fences and hurtle themselves towards home. 

There is something about saying "¡Anda" that reminds me of my parents. As a child, there was a certain freedom to hearing that word. It often meant I was free to roam, free to be with my friends. It also was an encouragement. If I asked my mother if I should do something or attend an event, she would say, "¡Anda!" and I knew I shouldn't hesitate or hold back. I remember talking about colleges with my parents and being concerned about our budgetary limitations. My parents said we could apply where ever we wanted and then we'd figure it out. "¡Anda!' was the meaning I heard behind their words 

Two years out of college, when I mentioned to my mother that I might quit my job and move to Bolivia, my parents' birthplace, in eight weeks because the timing was right, she said, "¡Anda!" No hesitation, no doubt, no comments about finding a job there or how I would manage. She knew I would figure it out and I did. 

My mom and dad were very strict in some ways. Our table manners were endlessly corrected, as was our Spanish grammar. We knew to stand up when adults walked into a room and that we had to clean our plates without complaint. Yet, there was something easy and comforting about the ways they let us go. I knew my mom and dad loved us, but they also wanted us to be independent and do things on our own. "¡Anda!"  infused me with a curiosity to try things out and do something different. Don't stay home! Don't sit on the couch! Just go!

I realize, especially as I write this, how much I am like my parents. I too am strict with the kids about manners and trying all kinds of food. I too want them to be independent. I see my job as a parent to prepare them for their future. Monkey certainly doesn't have me around all day at school to help him make decisions, and they kids won't have me by their side in college and afterwards. They need to go off and make their own mistakes and find their own successes, so why not start now? 

When Monkey sees his buddies, I'm sometimes bummed he won't be holding my hand as we walk home, but I'm happy he can interact with the boys and balance following their lead with his own preferences and safety while I watch from a short distance. Monkey and Munchkin's needs and burdens will shift with time, but for now, as I take that heavy backpack from his hands, I can at least release him from those weights for a little while. ¡Anda!

Last week, as Munchkin clambered into the stroller, I saw that she was clutching four trains and cars for the ride to take with her.  I instinctively cheered and thought, "Hooray, she's not too girly, she's like a..." my train of thought screeched to a halt. Wait a minute. Did I just cheer because I think my daughter is behaving like a boy? 

As I rushed out the door with Munchkin, I pondered where that inner cheer came from. Was I happy she was playing with trains? Sure, but why? Was it because Monkey loved them so much and I hoped she could share in his past obsession with Thomas the Tank Engine? Was it because building tracks and playing with trains are something we could do together? Or was it because I thought, "If she likes cars and trains, then she might be tough and I want a strong little girl." It was largely the latter and I knew I was wrong for thinking that way for many, many reasons. 

First of all, Munchkin has already demonstrated that she's tough. She is fearless on the playground, tackling ladders and ledges meant for older kids. She gives me a heart attack every week, but I love her enthusiasm for trying new things. She also can take a tumble without complaint. Sure, she cries sometimes, but if I had a penny for every time she scraped a knee and just kept going, I'd be able to retire. 

Secondly, lots of kids like trains and cars, and not all of them are toughies. Timid kids, brave kids, hyper kids and calm kids all share interests, so it's unfair to infer their personalities solely from the toys they chose. Some kids rock trains to sleep and others crash baby dolls so it's probably more important to note how kids play, not which toys they play with. 

Lastly, boys are not inherently tougher than girls. Nor are girls who wear blue necessarily tougher than girls who wear pink. Kids that play with dolls are not necessarily weaker than kids who don't. I know that as the truth and firmly believe that women have strengths that men do not possess (and no, I don't just mean childbirth), yet that little voice that said "Yeah, she's playing with trains!" showed me that my brain needs a reminder of what I already supposedly know. 

The truth is, I'm aware of a few other biases I have about women which clearly need an update. For example, in my mind, these preferences are incongruous with strength: women who wear full make-up every day; women who like to shop; women who have not just shoes, but a shoe collection; women who don't like to get dirty; women who can't fix household items on their own. I know though, that women can be those things and be strong, intelligent women. Despite my disdain for the color pink and stereotypically "girly" behavior, being feminine is not a sign of weakness in girls or boys. 

I'm going to work on addressing these biases (with a little help from Carolyn Hax) and love my little girl for who she is. I don't know what Munchkin will grow up to be, but for now, I'll support her whether she dresses up like a princess, a firefighter or a superhero. After all, these days a girl can be all three.