Anyone who tells you that pink is a “softer, less violent red” hasn’t been around my two year old daughter when she has donned her pink princess outfit.  There is nothing soft, fluffy or flowerlike about that color when it is draped around my daughter’s tiny body.  Pink literally drives her insane and it really isn’t pretty.  Granted, my daughter is a force to be reckoned with under the best of circumstances.  She is by any standard extremely extraverted, highly verbal and stridently opinionated.  (Yes, your typical, unremarkable toddler).  She also has her passions (again like most toddlers) which are strongly held and fiercely protected.  They revolve primarily around “dress up” and Michael Jackson.  Both of them are fairly manageable, up to a point and as long as a certain color isn’t involved.

I have already blogged (and spoken) ad nauseum about Michael Jackson’s presence in my daughter G’s life.  For those who need illumination, the spangled gloved one is G’s imaginary friend who first made an appearance shortly after his memorial in September 2009.  Although MJ was a major presence in our household for most of Fall 09, he has made himself more scarce since the New Year. Besides a short cameo appearance on New Year’s Day while we were making pancakes, he hasn’t been moon-walking through our halls at all.  Truth be told, he is a more than manageable preoccupation of my daughter and is getting more so every day.

Dress-up is my daughter’s other passion and that too is fairly containable. Even during its most intense phases (usually after a thorough marketing blitz for a newly released Disney princess film), I am able to manage her dress-up passion in such a way that life can continue relatively uninterrupted.  Yes, we still must sit through full-blown fashion shows on a regular basis (usually right before we need to walk out the door to keep some incredibly pressing appointment) but she keeps them blessedly short and focused.  She has perfected the art of whipping through her costume changes with great speed and panache and so it is all relatively painless.  She is also remarkably good-natured when we yell that it is time for the final curtain call.  She understands my limit-setting and usually goes along with the agenda.

All bets are off when one of the costumes happen to be “pink” (the color that is, NOT the singer).  I don’t know what it is about that color but pink brings out something primal in my child which has a shock and awe-like quality to it.  Suddenly, my otherwise pliable, approval-seeking offspring turns into a wild animal, literally fighting to the death to keep from being separated from all things pink. “I will not take it off!”  She shrieks while running away at full pelt in her pink ballerina tutu.  “Go away mummy right NOW!”  She commands, “I will not take it off!”  She clearly views pink as an inextricable part of her blossoming identity that me, the horrible mother, is trying to thwart or stifle.  And so as much as I can, I try to respect her personhood, give her space and simply march on with the day with my pink clad child in tow.  But that is not always possible – especially during the winter season with freezing temperatures and icy rain spells.  Pink or no pink, there are times when the costume simply has to come off. 

And so begins the invariable death roll where mother and tiny pink princess engage in hand to hand mortal combat, struggling over the removal of the pink garment and the substitution with something warmer or more appropriate.  Oftentimes, I will try to swap the pink dress up outfit for pink street clothes but my two year old rarely falls for it.  She screams, shrieks, and flails around the room as though stripping her of the pink princess attire was akin to murder.  I have literally had to take breaks and refuel during these fierce fights – mostly to stop my child from dry heaving and choking on her hiccups.  In short, there is nothing pretty about pink. And hell hath no fury like a rose-colored toddler.

My oldest unmarried daughter turns three on Friday and I have started to wonder about when the pink obsession will finally loosen its vice-like grip.  I keep hoping that we are on the cusp of her attaching to something else – something less crimson, less charged with feeling and more life-friendly.  I keep encouraging her to get excited about things that don’t require sunglasses to look at and a ritual of tearing off all her clothes.  I try to show her that she can find contentment in other past times that induce stillness, peace and household harmony – such as books and blocks and tea sets. 

And so, toward that end, I vowed that for the big 03 celebration there would be no more fairy wings, pink tiaras or hello kitty purses.  She can explore the other end of the color wheel for once – like blues and greens – the cool, pacifying colors of the sea and the sky.  When I ran this revelation by my seven year old, he shook his head and said “Bad idea, Mom.”  “She will be a mermaid instead of a princess.  Do you really want that instead?”  And of course, he is right.  Few things are as hellish as a Mermaid costume – especially for a toddler.  The sequins from the tail get all over the carpet and are impossible to clean up.  Mermaid costumes are infinitely harder to get in and out of and the tail makes mobility nearly impossible.  Yes, I needed to rethink my crusade against all things pink in our lives. After all, there are plenty things worst than a petulant pink princess in the house.  Especially a pretty one.