Oh, he's so cute

Not once or even twice, but we hear this constantly from complete strangers.  From the grocery delivery man to the woman waiting in line at Starbucks to the woman crossing the street (pushing a stroller, with an infant BOY inside). And all too often I find myself consoling said stranger after telling them his name is Charlotte. "Oh don't worry about it, you can't tell when they are this age." Or, "I know, that purple jumper would look great on either a little boy or girl." Really? I'm starting to get a complex for Charlotte, as all of these inaccurate comments bring me back to the winter of 1984...

It was a dreary and dark winter in Maine that year, and I'm not talking about the weather. It was the winter that initiated my perpetual anxiety (sheer terror... ha, get it?) for the hairdresser and provides that dull pain in my side when strangers ask "How old is he?" in reference to Charlotte.  Sitting in the hairdresser's chair that infamous winter, the stylist kept cutting and cutting and cutting, until there was mere peach fuzz remaining. The final straw was when she asked me if I would like it spiked. SPIKED?  You're asking me if I - a 5 year old little girl - would like my hair SPIKED? I want hair so long that I can suck on it all day like my older sister does with her hair. And you're asking me if I want it spiked? At that, I made a mad dash for the bathroom and locked myself in there for what felt like days - just staring with horror and disbelief at the little boy-girl in the mirror. I'm still not sure how I was coaxed out of the bathroom, but I'm sure it had something to do with the mention of sprinkles and Dairy Queen. Unfortunately, proof of that life-altering event can be seen in a Christmas photo of my brother and I sitting on Santa's sleigh - the only way you can tell us apart is that I am the one wearing a dress. Oh yeah, and he has a long bowl-cut.  

So perhaps my complex for Charlotte is a bit over-exaggerated, but I can't help it. Have you seen her spikey hair? It seems all too familiar to me. The only comfort I have is knowing that the spike is unintentional, and that she's not old enough to understand those strangers aren't able to see her pink onesie underneath all of her Padres gear.