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I had a parenting rule that no child of mine would ever own a Barbie.

This rule was grounded in the need for my child to understand that women very rarely have eyes that are bigger than their breasts, or thighs that are wider than their waists. And that most women can bend their arms and knees to accommodate tasks like hard-hitting journalism and rocket science.

Four years and two daughters into parenthood, I have never once bent this rule. But then, despite my best efforts, my whole parenting framework fell apart. Because of one ruthless and vicious infiltrator. Better known to some as "Nana."

She took my oldest daughter Lowery to the store and let her pick out a toy. When she brought my daughter home, Lowery came running toward my open arms carrying none other than, a Barbie. Stripper Barbie. Complete with a skintight leather dress and glittery shoes that reeked of daddy issues.

When my eyes lifted from the doll to meet my mother's gaze, I saw panic wash over her. "Oh," she said, looking down. "I forgot about your Barbie rule." Now, I feared, my child would grow up thinking women stand on their tip toes.

After a week of having Barb around, I began to feel as though perhaps just this one anatomically incorrect doll couldn't possibly warp my daughter's sense of self-worth. But then, when I picked Lowery up at school, I found a large, lumpy bag in her cubby. I opened it to see a lovely note from one of the teachers: "Dear Meg, these are my daughter's old Barbies for Lowery. Enjoy!"

And under the thoughtful note was a tangle of perfectly tanned plastic limbs, peeking out through sparkly spandex and shiny hair.

That night, Lowery came downstairs with her arms filled with plastic.

"Play with me," she said, as she handed me G.E.D. Barbie.

"I'll play with you, Sweetie," I responded. "But I won't play Barbies."

She looked hurt and confused. "But they are so fun to play with."

"That may be," I said. "But they aren't realistic."

"But mom…" Lowery sighed heavily. "They are just pretend."

It was likely, I thought, that my child was out-maturing me in what was possibly a defining moment in my parenting. If she could grasp that Candy Striper Barbie and Pharmaceutical Sales Rep Barbie were just pretending to be attacked by a dinosaur, then she would probably realize their body shape was also a thing of make believe.

"And they have the cutest shoes!" she declared.

"Right there!" I stood up and threw my hands in the air. "That's exactly what I'm worried about. These dolls are not a realistic depiction of what women can or should dress like! Have you ever tried walking in heels that high?!"

She looked at me, clearly confused, so I pushed on, forgetting I was talking with a four-year-old. "Lowery, I'm worried you will grow up thinking this is what women look like." She looked at Barb for a long time. And then back at me. Then at Barb again.

"But, this is what you look like!" she exclaimed. "You look just like this doll! Your hair is the same color. Your skin is the same color. You look just like Barbie!"

I looked at her, looking back and forth between the Barbie and her mother, trying to find what exactly was different between us. And so, before she had the chance to figure it out, I got down on the floor next to her, grabbed a Barbie and said: "Let's keep pretending."

- Meg Myers Morgan

Dr. Meg Myers Morgan is an assistant professor at the University of Oklahoma. She holds a Ph.D. and an MPA from the University of Oklahoma, and a degree in English and creative writing from Drury University. Meg is the author of Harebrained: It seemed like a good idea at the time. The book ranked in the Top 10 humorous books on Amazon, was awarded a gold medal in humor from the Independent Publishers Book Awards, and was recognized as a Foreword Reviews "Book of the Year." Her piece "Tabling the Discussion," about female behavior in the classroom, was a cover story for The Chronicle of Higher Education. Based on the themes in her writing, she gave a TED Talk, "Negotiating for Your Life," for TEDxOU in 2016. She lives in Tulsa, Oklahoma, with her husband and their two strong-willed daughters.