The reason I refused to buy my daughter a toy kitchen for her birthday

Years ago when Rebecca was about seven-years-old, she asked for a toy kitchen for her birthday.

Normally more than happy to treat my children on their birthdays, I found myself utterly conflicted on this one.

You see, her older brother, Christopher, had asked for a Barbie kitchen two years previously and against my better judgement I didn't end up getting it for him.

Regretfully, I listened to his dad who insisted there was surely something more 'little lad-appropriate' we could get for him to mark his sixth birthday, and like an idiot I found myself returning to the toy catalogue in search of other inspiration.

Battling with the issue for a number of days, I sought my parents advice - Looking back, I can't believe I gave everyone else so much credence, but I was a first-time mum and desperately wanted to please everyone - and they ultimately advised me to steer clear.

As a last resort, I went to my in-laws and suggested they got Chris the kitchen he requested, so my child would get what he wanted and his father wouldn't feel like he had a hand in “feminising” our son - Whatever that meant.

Met with guffaws from my father-in-law and gasps of confusion from my mother-in-law, I ultimately laid the issue to rest and decided that Chris would be absolutely spoiled on his birthday, but he wouldn't receive his bright pink culinary set.

This decision appeared to have little to no effect on my son on his big day, but my sense of shame at denying my child something because I was too meek to argue my point stayed with me long after we took down his birthday bunting and wrote our Thank You cards.

And then a few years later, his younger sister requested a kitchen and unsurprisingly her father instantly set about sorucing the best one for “his princess”.

“Rebecca won't be getting kitchen for her birthday,“ I told him one night as we got ready for bed.

“What?” he replied as he piled cushions against the wall and cocked a quizzical eye at me from across the room.

“Rebecca won't be getting a toy kitchen,” I repeated. “If Chris wasn't allowed to have one because it made you feel uncomfortable, we're not getting Rebecca one just because you're happy with it.”

“I don't want Chris growing up thinking that we consider certain toys, tasks or hobbies appropriate for one and not the other,” I continued.

“Well, it's a bit late now because you didn't get him the kitchen in the end.”

“I know that, and I'm furious with myself for it.”

“But why punish Rebecca over your 'poor' decision?”

And that's when I played my trump card.

“I've already explained it to Rebecca and ultimately she agreed it's not fair that she would get something that Chris didn't although she did suggest sharing it with him.”

My husband's expression faltered and something shifted as he agreed to let me make the choice this time.

Almost ten years, our youngest son, Nathanial, is the proud owner of a dollhouse filled with soldiers, a pram where he stores a collection of minature footballs and a dressing-up box filler with feather boas and camouflage jackets - all of which is A-OK with his dad.

I made the wrong decision back then, but I learned from it... I think.