Transgender baby and the importance of pronouns.

That's a lovely outfit! Hm... Blue jeans, navy top, you must be a BOY! Gray hoodie, track pants: BOY;  let's cut to the chase here and say that unless your child is wearing head-to-foot pink, they're male. Obviously. Because what new mother would NOT jump at the chance to buy pink everything? Mm-hm. You're looking at her. At the airport: "He's a tiny new thing, isn't he? Oh yes, very new." This, from the mouths of grandparently-aged people, eyeing off my nine-week-old daughter who is holding up her head on her freakishly strong little neck (yes, all nearly-ten pounds of her now) and PATTING HER ON THE BACK. I'm sorry, did I just walk over to you and announce (on the basis of your gender-neautral clothing and walking stick) "You're a lovely pair of geriatic gentlemen, aren't you? Enjoying a little escape from the retirement village?" WHILE GETTING UP IN YOUR PERSONAL SPACE? No wonder babies are constantly screaming. I should make a million bucks from decoding. Forget hungry/tired/soiled/confused, let's have a crack at agoraphobic (with good reason), overstimulated (I dare you to be wheeled through a shopping centre flat on your back in a hospital bed), and plain old pissed at all the strange and random people poking them and making idiotic noises in their face. One piece of sweet, sweet revenge: to the other mother on the flight home who commented "He's so tiny and cute, isn't he? But gee, they all feel SO heavy after a bit!"Yes, she is, and she weighs much, much less wrapped to me than your similarly aged baby strapped into a forward-facing (eek) crotch dangler (baby bjorn). But good luck with that. Personal pronouns, people. And if you're not sure, try "they". Guaranteed NOT to get you run over with a bugaboo.