Barrett. To me, the name sounds all boy. Perhaps, though, there are Barrett’s who are girls out there but then you see the babe. You see the chin dimple… the clothes that have never resembled anything close to pink … you hear me say “see you later baby boy”. Deductive reasoning would conclude that this baby, this Barrett, is a boy.
Last week, I dropped Barrett off at the daycare gym. Decked out in an orange and white striped Carter’s onesie with a big blue fish on the front and his brown shades drawn, I kissed him goodbye and said “See you later baby boy. You be a good boy today, okay?” and went on my merry way. Upon my return, two conversations followed:
Front desk gal: “Is she yours?”
Me: “Yes, he’s mine”
Front desk gal: “Oh, I’m so sorry … we just can’t get over how tiny and cute he is”
Me: “Thanks. We love him!”
The front desk entry to the gym and the half-wall divider which separates the infant area from the toddler area are less than 20 feet apart.
Me: “How was Mr. Barrett today?”
Daycare worker gal: “She was great. She fussed a little when I put her on the boppy but otherwise, she was fantastic.”
Me: “Yes, I am trying so hard to get him more accustomed to being independent but it’s hard when he gets to have so much one on one attention at home.”
Daycare worker gal: “No problem, she’ll learn and she’s so adorable so it doesn’t really matter.”
Me: “Yes, we think he’s pretty cute.”
Daycare worker gal: “How old is she, again?”
Me: “He’s 6 months. He was born a month early.”
Daycare worker gal: “I think her tiny size is what makes her so precious.”
Me: “Yes. But she is a him.”
Daycare worker gal: “Yeah. Have a great day you two.”
Generally the first thing strangers note about Barrett is that he’s such a little man… a pint-size version of Adam… no mistaking he’s all boy. Apparently no one told the gym daycare that she is a him.
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