My son is six months old. He is, in my completely unbiased opinion, a perfect little baby. He smiles and coos and rolls over and puts anything he can reach into his mouth. Delightful. All of my son’s playmates are girls, because all of my friends who live near us have daughters. They are older, and possess such skills as walking, climbing, using words, and eating real food. My son watches them in awe. For now, those little girls have the advantage. They are bigger and more coordinated and can ask for food and know how to call out for Mommy and Daddy. They can move from one side of the room to the other. Some of them are even starting to potty train (oh, what a lofty achievement!). They laugh and play together. Sometimes they cry or hit or take things from one another; no toddler is an angel. On the whole, they are happy, healthy, bright, kind little girls, whom I pray would be blessed to grow into women who continue to be happy, healthy, bright, kind adults.
I am saddened, however, when I consider that this brief window of advantage for those girls will be over before they even realize it existed.