each time jackson is out in public, he is assumed by others to be a girl.

“oh what a lovely girl…”

“your daughter has beautiful eyes.”

“goodness those curls on her are gorgeous!”

“she looks like her mommy…”

jackson can be dressed head-to-toe in blue, one hand holding his sippy cup that has trucks on it, the other hand holding his toy trucks (he has a thing for trucks), and strangers will still assume and then comment that he is a girl.

if this happens when i’m the one out-and-about with jackson, i’ll say quite loudly, “HE” or “YOU MEAN MY SON,” or “HE’S A BOY,” and embarrass the hell out of the stranger, who then retreats to another aisle in the grocery store and cries.

paul uses a gentler method, “jackson, say thanks but i’m a boy.” (an apology is made, everyone smiles and makes friends. yay.)

granted, our son has long hair… long, curly hair.  (no, i’m still not cutting it.) but, to assume, and then comment with such certainty astounds me.

so paul and i were discussing this today over lunch…

paul: “let’s get jackson a tshirt that says ‘i have a penis.’”

nic: “or one that says, ‘mom wipes my weenie.’”

paul: laughs, recalling this post from earlier in the week.

nic: (continuing tshirt talk,) “wanna see my penis?”

nic: “just cuz my hair is long doesn’t mean i don’t have a schlong.”

this banter between the two of us goes on for a few minutes, and then i look at jackson eating lunch and realize that he’s drinking from a pink sippy cup.

DAMMIT!

upon finishing lunch, the three of us head to babies r us where we spend over $100 on a multitude of gender-defining items, including a pair of pajamas with skulls and cross-bones, blue and green sippy cups, and more trucks… always more trucks.

CUZ BOYS PLAY WITH TRUCKS!  BOYS!