When my daughter Mikki turned three, she adored everything pink and sparkly. Without fail, she insisted on wearing a tutu to school daily. Her fascination extended to outer space, as she was captivated by stars, galaxies, and the rockets propelling humanity's exploration beyond our planet.

As Mikki transitioned from a toddler bed to a regular one, she wished for rocket ships on her bedding. However, she had a strong aversion to red and blue and insisted on them being pink. This led me to notice a striking disparity in children's products. Pink was often associated with flowers, butterflies, and hearts—things deemed pretty but not empowering. If you were drawn to pink, it seemed to convey that you didn't belong in the world of rocket ships. Pink wasn't for you. Your realm was that of the princess, not the dragon, not the firetruck, and certainly not the spaceship.

In 2015, my son Zee was two years old and deeply fixated on firefighters. Characters like Fireman Sam and Marshall from Paw Patrol were his heroes. He proudly wore his firefighter hat to school every day. Interestingly, he even pushed his older sister's bright pink doll stroller to school.

Observing Zee's fondness for the stroller, I came to a realization. His preference wasn't necessarily for the color pink; he leaned more toward red and blue. It hadn't crossed my mind to get him a doll stroller, but the only reason he had access to one was because of his pink-loving older sister.

This realization prompted me to delve into my research. Among children who favored cars and trucks over princesses and pink, very few had been given the chance to play with a doll stroller. Although they received more cars, trains, and dinosaurs for holidays and birthdays, they were excluded from a fundamental aspect of childhood play.

And so, I gifted my first nephew a doll stroller as a big brother present. Then to a trio of energetic little boys. Followed by another friend. And yet another nephew.