When I was a little girl, I thought I was a fairy. I really believed I was a fairy; I would chant my little songs, do my white magic and when my mum’s friend’s came round, I would tell them that I was not ‘Nina’ but ‘Fairy Nina’.
If my mum asked what I wanted to wear I said Wings. I said I wished my pink, sparkly, sequinned Wings would never come off. I said I wanted to superglue the elastic that held them on over my shoulders so that they could never come off. When I grew up, I wanted the Wings made big and strong, made out of metal and real people’s skin and electric fuses stitched into my spine, no matter what the cost or the damage to my body might be.
I am a Fairy. I was born a Fairy, and will die a Fairy.
Had I gone that far, and that sinister, my mum might have been frightened. She might have sent me to therapy. She might have told me fairies weren’t real, she might have simply taken my tacky little wire wings off me and sent me to bed. She wasn’t like the new-age mums, the Progressive Mummy were hear about so much nowadays.
She wasn’t the Progressive Mummy we LOVE. Progressive Mummy is new.
I applaud the mothers who let their sons wear make-up; something not only considered ‘girly’, but often associated with the homosexual community, too. Nothing wrong with a bit of make-up, you can wipe it off if you fancy, and reapply it again if it’s more than a passing fad. It’s like face paint really. But what about something a little more permanent?
The youngest children coming out as transgender are around 5 years old. That’s pretty damn young. These children express a certainty in their belief that they have been born into the wrong bodies. They have their belief confirmed by specialists, get given pills, and their journey towards another gender begins. Progressive Mummy okays this great landmark.
But what if the children don’t quite understand the commitment of their decision? What if they’re getting it wrong? What if their not-quite-finished bodies are just rampant with child fancies? What if their not-quite-formed minds are just playing Fairy, like I was? Or playing Angel or playing Barbie or playing Boy and Girl? It’s the Progressive Mummy who says yes to the drugs and media attention.
Why is the age of consent 16 and the age of alcohol consumption 18? What’s the point if we can fuck our bodies into an early grave or a disturbed childhood long before?
Progressive Mummy doesn’t seem to consider these issues. Progressive Mummy thinks Youtube make-up tutorials are fun, Rihanna is a good role model and it’s funny and adorable to dress her son up like ‘Wrecking Ball Miley’ for Halloween. Guaranteed traction on her Instagram profile.
Progressive Mummy thinks minors, legally unable to make any decisions, should be allowed to make decisions.
Why? Is it because Progressive Mummy is part of a new generation of mothers who want to be seen as ‘accepting’ and ‘free-thinking’? Or is it because she’s as indecisive as her children? Because she doesn’t know what’s right or wrong, but she’s certain that she wants to look cool.
Mummy… are you one of us?
Will Mummy come, and wear Wings too? And bury her head in the sand along with any responsibilities under the strapline “I Let My Kid Be Themselves”?
I want to see what will happen in the future. Will we witness a snowballing effect from this handing over of agency to infants? Will we ever be allowed to tell off our kids again, or will a reign of terror ensue where child rules the roost? But wait, It’s not their fault, they’ve got dyslexia and ADHD and obesity and, worst of all, imagination! Just let them have at it (whatever it is; a Barbie doll, a truck, a sedative, an anti-depressant, botox, a vagina) before they start to scream and embarrass!
It is undeniable that many people are genuinely transgender, and being so causes them agony and confusion for a long time. What I propose is that parents of suspected transgender kids support their children through childhood, gently letting them know that what they are feeling is more than acceptable – but it’s sensible to wait longer until they are legally old enough to make the decision to alter their bodies physically, permanently, for themselves. Giving a 5 year old hormones because they expressed an interest in being the opposite gender for a few months is unforgivable. My friend’s brother used to cry, and cry, and cry, because he wasn’t a dinosaur. Did their mother invest hundreds and thousands of pounds in surgery to make him scaly, and 40 feet long and carnivorous? No, you will be relieved to read. There is a line between being supportive of your child, whoever and whatever they might grow up to be, and being completely irresponsible. It’s not even a fine line. It’s a great, big, mile-wide line, visible from space.
And if a 5 year old boy is allowed to wear a dress to school, can a 5 year old girl wear a thong bikini? If today a child can get prescribed anti-psychotics at aged 2, what if she or he asks for a line of coke aged 4? And what if, so used to getting what they want – we try and stop these baby tyrants one day… and say no? What if we actually gave rules and discipline and go, and the ditched political-correctness-gone-schizo?
Will we all be murdered in our beds? If a child can begin to alter their gender that young, doing dangerous things to their bodies… Can we let them carry a real gun just in case they need to defend themselves from the monster-under-the-stairs?
What if, in playing house, your little son and daughter want a real pot to boil vegetables in and real chairs to sit on? What if they want a real baby to put in their toy pram to play ‘mummy and daddy’ with? Would you give it to them?
Oh wait, no need, Progressive Mummy – why don’t you climb into the cot and nappies – you’ve already shit yourself trying to be an adult, and might as well let them raise you.
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