We were buckling everyone back in the car when an older couple came up next to us. The woman was a grandmotherly type, nice and outgoing if slightly intrusive, who took it upon herself to peek in our window at our line of kids situated in the backseat.
“I just love kids!”, she gushed. “Let me come around to the other side to see them better.” So this older lady who I had never met before walked over to Abby’s open door to wave hello to our group.
“We had 3 boys, too.”, she went on. “They’re all boys, aren’t they?”
I realize it could be difficult to distinguish since my daughter’s hair still hasn’t grown much past her ears. Except she was in a pastel-striped dress that reminds me of Easter. With purple ruffled socks and strappy sandals. Which, I know, isn’t that great of a look, but she wanted to wear socks and her dad obliged.
“Well, 2 boys. She’s a girl.”, I stammered, pointing at Abby. WHO’S WEARING A DRESS.
“Oh, yes! I see her socks now.”, as she waved one more time before retreating.
It was very innocent and I know she meant no harm, taking offense would have been ridiculous. Clearly, though, my daughter needs to grow some hair. A weave, possibly. Until then, pin a button to her top that reads GIRL in big pink letters. And keep wearing the ruffled socks, apparently. Even with strappy sandals.