Gender Bender

Boy oh Girl, does it ever mess people up when a baby is wearing the wrong color.
What is so mind-blowing about a girl wearing blue? Pink, for a boy, I can sort of get. Pink has been co-opted by the mass marketing monster as a beacon to the young girl - pssst...over here...away from the sporting goods....this here is your aisle, full of ribbons, and ponies, and barbies, and My First Makeup Kits! to the point where no mother with an ounce of love for her son could feel right about clothing him in pink dresses, unless for sport. At least, I don't think I could feel quite right about it, if my daughter were a son. It's much much much easier to challenge the gender coding system when your kid can pull off a blue plaid shirt and jeans one minute, spit up on it, then don a lovely summer frock in citrus hues without batting a pretty little eyelash. Thanks, universe, for giving me a girl to dress in a living representation of My Ideological Platform. May the whole thing never backfire in the form of Hannah Montana, High School Musical, or whatever ghastly incarnation lies ahead.

Today I noticed that Edie's Little Bitty summer frock felt a bit stiff, and scratchy. Starchy. Little Bitty is Costco's brand of retro styled infant clothing, designed to conjure up simpler times; Easy Bake Ovens and mountains of glistening Spam. A gorgeous, shellacked housewife, with her three darling, well-pressed children. I whisked the dress off and replaced it with a comfortable tee shirt, which Jessica sent from Tasmania. It has a picture of the island of Tasmania, a Tasmanian Devil, and a Tasmanian Tiger on the front. Oh, and it's blue. Because it's hot here, Edie's been rocking the no-pants look all the time, and no shirt whenever we can. Her diaper today happened to also be blue. Blue like her eyes...the ones with Maybe She's Born With It lashes, and oceans of charm. As we waited outside the grocery store for Kenneth, an old man sitting across from us struck up a conversation.

"How old is he?"
"Um, she's six months old."
"He seems sweet enough now, but wait until he's fifteen, then you'll want to kill him."
"We've agreed to renegotiate her contract at fourteen."
"I've had two sons, and both of them were wonderful boys, and gave me five grandchildren. But when they were fifteen, boy I tell you."
"I believe it."
"What is his name?"
"Edith Emily. She's a girl."
At this moment he sees an employee of the store and seizes his opportunity to ask the young man if he could look for a book in the lost and found for him. The DaVinci Code. I notice that he has several volumes resting on the seat of the walker next to him. One is a book of American Poetry. The store employee runs into the store to inquire about the book, and I change the subject to the DaVinci Code. He admits that he's gotten around to reading it a bit late, and then he left the book at this store about a month ago. He just moved here from New York and donated thousands of books and cds to the Salvation Army. He's been making trips to Border's Books to replenish some of his materials, but the selection isn't great. The store employee comes out to say that he couldn't find the book, or anybody who knew anything about the book. It's a shame, because the old man spoke with someone in Lost and Found on the phone, and they said they'd hold it for him, but the employee insists that he knows nothing.
We chat a minute longer, and then a van pulls up. On the side it says "Sunrise Senior Living" with a phone number and a logo.
"There's my ride. It's been a pleasure talking with you."
"You too, good luck with your books."
"That's a beautiful boy you have there, take good care of him."
I laugh.
"Okay, I will."

Later, we went to Trader Joe's to catch up on some groceries. I stopped by the sample table to pay my respects, and the woman behind the counter squealed when she saw Edie. In the highest pitched baby voice I've ever heard, the Mariah Carey of baby voices, she praised Edie's good looks and asked me how old he was.
"Um, she's six months old."
"Oh, he's a BIG boy!"

Then a little boy, about 5 or 6, spotted Edie and shouted, "BABY!"
He came right over, as if magnetized, with eyes like fishbowls. He grabbed her hand and studied the size difference between his and her fingers. "Look at those little fingers! The baby's squeezing my fingers!" The boy's father stood back, a little apologetically, and said, "Be gentle, now...don't touch the baby's face, your hands probably aren't that clean."
But the boy was unreachable, admiring every detail of Edie's little feet, nose, hair, and ears, touching her skin reverently, as if he'd never seen a baby before in his entire life.
"Do you remember being that little?" I asked him.
He looked at me with a deep knowing in his face and just nodded.
"Okay, that's enough, let's leave the baby alone now," said his father.
"I need to see the baby's tongue! Show me your tongue!"
Edie obliged.
"Hey, I saw it's tongue!" the boy said happily, then followed his father down the produce aisle.

As we were placing our overfull shopping basket on the shelf at the checkout stand, the little boy and his father were getting into line a few lanes over from us. The boy caught my eye and yelled, loud enough for the entire store to hear, "IS YOUR BABY A GIRL?"
I smiled at him and answered, "YES SHE IS!"

Mystery solved.