Mistaken Identity

When Claudia was a baby, I was certifiably crazy about distinguishing her sex to the public.  I wouldn't leave the house without her in at least two pink-drenched articles of clothing, covered by a pink blanket.  Still, people would mistaken her for a boy.  Perhaps it was her lack of hair. Whatever the case, I would take personal offense to this mistaken identity..."Oh, how old is he?", they would say.  "SHE is blah, blah, blah months old."

This time around, I find myself more laid back on so many levels.  The other day, Mallory was dressed in a pale blue outfit.  She visited the doctor, went to the grocery store, then spent the afternoon with me at the frame shop.  A nurse commented, "Boy oh boy. He's getting big!" The grocery store bagger said, "Ahh, he's Mamma's little helper."  And, one of our customers pointed out how happy our little guy was.  Before, I would have been quick to correct.  Now, I just play along, "Yep, growing like a weed", "Quite the little helper", "He's always so happy."  

It's just not worth putting a perfect stranger on the spot by correcting them due to their inability to see the one true determining factor beneath the diaper.