Little Baby Bear
A few times a week Benjamin gets mistaken for a baby girl. It doesn’t seem to matter how I dress him, we always get a “Oh, what a sweet baby! How old is she?” from the ancient grandmothers at the supermarket. Or the clerk at the drug store. Or the receptionist at the doctor’s office.
I never quite know how to respond. I’m not particularly worried by their mistake; I know he’s a boy and I’m fairly certain that as he looses his baby fat he’ll start to look a bit more boyish. Frankly, he’s a baby, they’re supposed to look like little blobs. I’m ok with that.
But I don’t know how to proceed. Should I act like it never happened? “Oh, about eight months old”. Correct them? “He is about eight month old” Slightly more confrontational? “Actually he is a boy and he’s eight months old”. Give them the gimlet-eyed stare: “Did you just call my baby Benjamin a girl?” Just kidding. I would never do that.
The problem with correcting people is that they inevitably feel badly which is definitely not the desired outcome. After all, they’re trying to be friendly and give my little babe a compliment. "Sweet baby! Oh, what a beautiful smile!” I lap that stuff up. I am his mother, after all. Plus, I’m probably never going to see them again.
So no big deal, right?
It reminds me a bit of that family in Toronto that is raising their baby gender-less. Or trying to. You should read the article... it’s interesting.
