Parenting
I’m the proud mom of two wonderfully unique kids who often blur the lines of gender. My son, since he was a tiny tot, has frequently been mistaken for a girl. In his baby days, it was mainly due to his astonishingly long eyelashes and that cherubic face. Now, as a slightly older kiddo, it’s mostly because of his flowing locks. Honestly, unless you know him, it’s a rarity for anyone to refer to him as a “him.”
Then there’s my daughter, who, being the second child, often rocks her brother’s hand-me-downs. While I’ve added some floral touches to her closet, a lot of what she wears consists of jeans, black hoodies with dinosaur spikes, and gray tees featuring motorcycles or bears. Unlike her brother, she didn’t inherit those glorious tresses and sports a more modest haircut. Even though it happens less frequently, I still hear folks calling her a cute little boy from time to time.
Most of the time, I don’t bother correcting anyone. More often than not, my kids are too engrossed in play to notice. If my son catches someone calling him a girl, he sometimes corrects them himself, and I’m totally okay with that. But in general, we let it slide because it really doesn’t matter. A little misgendering isn’t going to ruin our day.
However, when I do find myself correcting someone, especially in contexts like playgroups where we might see the same people again, I notice their over-the-top apologies. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” they exclaim, looking mortified. Relax, buddy. It’s not like you ran over my dog or mistook my child for a Red Sox fan. You simply used the wrong pronoun. No harm, no foul. Let’s just move on.
I’ve always been puzzled by how horrified people seem when they guess the wrong gender for my kids, especially when they were babies. I mean, who can tell the gender of a swaddled-up bundle of joy? When a doctor announces, “It’s a (insert gender),” that’s good enough for me.
And here’s why I don’t correct total strangers—it just doesn’t matter if you misjudge my kids’ gender. It certainly doesn’t require me to reassure you that I’m not offended.
Honestly, why should it offend me? I cherish that my kids are growing up with a more fluid perspective on gender. At just four years old, my son is only now starting to recognize distinctions between boys and girls. He knows he’s a boy and his sister is a girl, but the concepts of “boy” and “girl” toys or colors have never been on his radar.
Both of them enjoy a mix of trucks and dolls, and they’re equally obsessed with shows like Blaze & the Monster Machines and Shimmer and Shine (though honestly, I’d prefer they didn’t like either, for my sanity). They’re just kids, loving life, puzzles, coloring, and testing how loud they can scream before I lose my mind.
It’s been fascinating to observe their individual interests without me nudging them in a specific direction. My son is gentle and calm, often lost in a book or playing quietly with action figures. Meanwhile, my daughter is a whirlwind of energy, climbing anything she can find and dressing up in whatever strikes her fancy. Every day, they surprise me in the best ways.
So, there’s no need to stress about where they fall on the pink-to-blue scale. You’ve got a 50/50 shot and trust me, it’s not a competition. No apologies necessary.
My kids are just that—kids. They have their whole lives to explore what being a girl or a boy means. For now, I’m thrilled to let them simply be themselves.
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Summary
In this light-hearted piece, Jamie Taylor shares her experience as a mother of two children who often defy traditional gender norms. She reflects on the common misgendering they face and emphasizes that it’s not a big deal. Rather than being offended, she appreciates that her kids are growing up with a broader understanding of gender. The article concludes by encouraging readers not to worry about gender assumptions and to enjoy the uniqueness of childhood.