Annabel spins around in a circle, holding her stick out straight, and ends pointing it at me.

“Poof! You’re a superhero!”

“Oh, fantastic. What are my superpowers?”

“You’re a princess!”

“A princess?” My inner Women’s Studies major is offended. “I don’t want to be a princess. What kind of superpower is that? I want to shoot rockets out of my fingertips or something.”

“Nope.” She shrugs. “You’re a princess.”  She waves the stick around again and points at Michael. “Poof! You’re a superhero!”

“What am I?”



[Please note that our child has never seen Batman. Or, for that matter, any princess movies. But that’s how these things go these days.]

I have concerns. “How come he gets to be Batman and I have to be a princess?”

She looks at me curiously. “Do you want to be Batman?”

“Of course I do.”

Michael objects. “She can’t be Batman. She has to be Batwoman.”

“Okay.” She waves the stick around again with a flourish. “Poof! You’re Batwoman!”

“Awesome. Thanks, babe.”

“Now what about me?” Michael is worried about having me as Bat competition, I can tell.

She waves the stick around one more time and points directly at him, “Poof! You’re Batwoman!”

Michael looks at me.  “I think we’ve got some gender issues going on.”

Annabel tosses the stick to the ground. “I’m gonna go play in your car, Mommy.”