Flowergate 2013

I forgot about the best part of last month!


aka, the day I ruined my son’s life.

In case you have forgotten, I used to be a burlesque dancer. I have a shit-ton of costumes, sparkles, feathers, and random fabulous stuff that no longer gets much play. Therefore, when the holidays come around, LOOK OUT. Time to get fancy.

Everyone likes to dress up a baby! Everyone on facebook was posting photos of their cute little babies* in pink & red valentiney outfits! I was at work, and decided that first thing when I got home I would do the same.

* all these babies were girls. I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN.

So, I got home, the Lumberjack went off to class, and I dressed up the baby. ADORABLE.


This baby is ready for V-Day

Of course, since I am me, when it came to posting him on the FB, I went for humor. Therefore, I posted this:
with the caption “Unlike his mother, Atticus does not enjoy dressing up for thematic photoshoots.”


My aunt threatened to take away my “mom card,” the Lumberjack’s cousin asked him if he knew and approved of this (luckily the Lumberjack responded with, essentially, “who the fuck cares”), and one of his random friends told me to “stick with bats and gloves.” At work, when I mentioned it to two coworkers (who are also my friends on FB) and laughed, thinking they would also find the response ridiculous, they both individually gave me shit about it.

In case you can’t see the photo, yes: I clipped a flower to my son’s hair. ALERT THE FUCKING AUTHORITIES.


Please send help. My mom is clearly unfit.

I laughed it off to a point, but then…what the everloving fuck is wrong with everyone? It is a flower. It is a baby. It is a flower on a baby. I didn’t even pick a pink one! It’s red! He’s dressed in red & white! I THOUGHT THOSE WERE ACCEPTABLE BOY COLORS.

I get so frustrated with the stupid fucking gender rules around kids and their clothes. Everything is so strict, and people get so upset if you don’t follow them correctly. And no one can explain why. With one coworker, I tried to make her verbalize what, exactly, the problem was. She said “But…he’s a boy! It’s mean!” what’s mean? “Putting a flower on him!” why? “Because he’s a boy!” and so on. Circular logic IS NOT LOGIC.

Finally when my cousin made some crack about how one day he’s going to be a teenager, I responded:
“Yep, and if I do my job right, he’ll be a teenager with a strong sense of self who isn’t embarrassed or threatened by a flower. And besides, who are we to assume he won’t grow up to LIKE wearing flowers? He’s a baby – he doesn’t even know what gender IS, let along how he wants to express his. So it’s my responsibility to show him myriad options, then love and support whatever he chooses. So until he can dress himself, he gets camouflage outfits, pink pajamas, onesies with a football on the butt, and a flower in his hair. I think he’ll be okay.”

fucking hell.


Week 21: It’s a boy – aka, the time I burst into tears during an ultrasound

We are having a boy (until a few years from now, when he tells us differently).

I was not expecting a boy; I did not want a boy.  I had no idea I felt this way, however, until Friday’s ultrasound when the lab tech said “You’re having a son!” and I literally burst into tears (not the happy kind).  Woah.

I sobbed all the way home, without really understanding what my problem was.  And on and off again all weekend.  Like, intense, body-wracking sobs.  Harder than I’ve cried since the Lumberjack’s mom died 2 years ago.  The Lumberjack, meanwhile, who had been expressing his preference of a girl all along while I stuck with my overly optimistic “I don’t care as long as it’s healthy!” perspective, could not contain his smile.  He was lighting up every corner of the house.  We figured out later that he knew what he preferred, so he was prepared for the alternative.  Whereas I had completely denied having a preference, so I was totally blindsided by the fact that I had one, and that I wasn’t getting it.

So anyway.

The baby is healthy, you will be happy to hear (as was I).  I have an anterior placenta, which explains why I haven’t felt much movement.  The baby has a huge brain, and a quickly beating heart, and he grabs his little toes when the lab tech is trying to get a clear picture of them.  He has tiny toes!  Because he is tiny!

I did a bunch of reading on “gender disappointment” over the weekend, and apparently 1) I am not alone, and 2) I have it WAY better than some of the women out there.  One lady said that she regularly considers giving up her 3 boys for adoption, so that they can be with someone “who really loves them.”  Holy shit.  But the main thing I learned was that a lot of women have a general idea or vision of what their kid will look/be like, and it usually has a specific gender.  So finding out that you didn’t get that gender requires you to rewrite your perspective of what you’re getting, while simultaneously mourning the kid you won’t be getting (this time around, anyway).

I’m going to have a baby, and he’s going to be a little boy, and somewhere in the past few hours I suddenly got So Fucking Psyched.  I don’t know what happened.  I was walking to work listening to KC and the Sunshine Band’s “Baby Give it Up” and suddenly I pictured myself with a little boy, dancing around a kitchen, and I got so totally, blissfully happy.  I guess I rewrote my vision, and now I’m the one who can’t stop smiling.


I told the Lumberjack “I still need this baby to be a feminist.”  He said “Well, yeah…I assumed that would be a given.  I mean, we’re the ones who are going to be shaping his world view.”  Hot damn I love my Lumberjack.