Yesterday, I drove my kids to Target in part because I needed to get a refill on my acne prescription and in part because I cannot pass up any and every opportunity to survey area Halloween displays. En route, my smallest kid – who is six and fiery and opinionated and never passes up an avenue in which she can express any one of her numerous opinions – deadpanned, “Mom, I don’t think I want to marry another girl when I get older. I think I’m going to marry a boy.”
“Um, okay,” I said, adjusting my sunglasses in the rearview mirror, “Is there a particular boy you have picked out? Should I meet him?”
“Oh my gosh, no, I’m not ready for all that,” she said, mortified. “I just want you to know, so you’re not disappointed in me.”
It is confusing for them. It HAS to be. I harbor no illusions about how confusing it must be to have one dad and two moms.
“Babe,” (and if you have a hangup about things that are said to children, or about profane language, or about humor, or about the beautiful and progressive way we find the earth spinning in 2015, I suggest you find a new blog or a new future to measure and anticipate) I stared her right in the face, “I don’t give a rat’s ass who you marry, as long as you find someone who’s nice to you. I don’t need or want you to be any certain way in this life, I just want to make sure your options are always open, and if you decide later on that you want to marry a woman, go for it. You can. If you want to marry a man, you can do that, too.”