He is Not a She

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The other night we were waiting oh so patiently for our dinner to be packaged up and paid for. While Greg and I tried not to get irritated, Evan squeezed between us and smiled at the young cashier. She was packaging Greg’s cookies, and adding a third one, “For her”.

I sighed, hopefully not too loudly. Greg said thank you and took the cookie as the cashier explained they throw them out at the end of the night anyways. Some battles are just not worth fighting, I said in my head.

We took our son, who was just back from a haircut, back to the table. As I chewed my food, I wondered if I should have said something, anything, and if it mattered. In the end, does it matter if the cashier knew “he is not a she”? Would it just cause embarrassment and undue stress? Chewing over the matter, I decided not to say anything, but to bottle up my emotions.

Evan is an adorable ‘lil kid. He has incredibly silky, curly blond hair that falls just below his ears. We (and he) refuse to cut it because it’s that gorgeous (and we’re all jealous). His eyelashes go for days, covering his hazel eyes when he gets shy or upset. Sometimes his painted (green) toenails peek through his Crocs. Other than that, Evan is all boy. He bites, kicks, and yells. He jumps off everything he can get on top of. He loves blue, green, and light up Cars shoes.

Should we feel like we have to defend his gender every time someone gets it wrong?

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