‘Where do the dollies go?’ I say.
‘We don’t want the dollies anymore, Mum.’
I don’t care whether they want the dollies now.
It was having them in the first place that mattered. My sons, having dollies. They played regularly with them, often in the pink buggy.
They know that pink doesn’t belong to girls.
They dote on their teddies, now. Their nurturing instincts are intact. I worried, before, that they could be eradicated by a house full of lego, cars, the colour blue.
Maybe I worry too much.
Maybe I don’t worry enough.
I put the dollies in the box of hand-me-downs. They will go to sons of a dear friend.
There’s no such thing as girl’s stuff, my son says.
The rest of the toys: cars, Lego … and yes, teddies … get put away, neatly for another day.