Six foot two, with eyes of blue
The Child had her 3 year check up right before the barfing bug hit us all. Actually, right after. During the exam, I was slumped in the corner, shaky and bleary-eyed from barfing all night.
The Child is remarkably healthy. She has a strabismus, but other than that she’s in the pink of health. (Puking aside.) She’s also maintaining her record of being off the growth charts. At 3 years and two weeks, she was the size of an average 4-and-a-half year old: 40 inches, 40 pounds.
I’m thrilled. She’s going to be a beautiful, tall, blonde woman.
But it’s amazing how much crap I get for this. “Oh, that’s too bad!” or “Wow, she’ll never be able to wear heels!” or “Oh, I think 5 foot six is tall enough for a girl, don’t you?” Like I have any frigging say about the issue! (And, as a 5’6″ woman… NO! I want to be taller. Always have.)
I am remembering an ad some years about where the voice-over intones: “I have a friend who is 5’11” and she loves to wear heels. I want that kind of confidence!” The implications of that ad have always staggered me. It takes confidence to wear heels? And why is wearing heels a good thing, anyway? To look taller, right? So why would a tall woman need more confidence to wear heels? I don’t get it.
It’s astounding to me that this Victorian ideal of the teensy tiny little lady is still around. It’s going away, clearly, but it’s still deeply ingrained in our society. I worry about how her height is going to affect her: will she have trouble getting a date? will people laugh at her? Will it help? (If you control for height, some significant portion of the differences between men’s and women’s salaries disappears.)
Of course, like I said, not like I can do anything about it.