This one has beenrattling around for months. It is not about shits and giggles. Just shits.This week I read a post from a 35 year old American Blogger who writes under the name Nerdy Apple Bottom. She begins her post:

My son is gay. Or he’s not. I don’t care. He is still my son. And he is 5. And I am his mother. And if you have a problem with anything mentioned above, I don’t want to know you.

And it was the thing that tipped me over the edge this week. A week where this article came out. Princess Boy Sparks Gender Furore. A week where my son danced in his first ever ballet recital and was never happier. A week where he dressed up as a Fairy Princess for Halloween and was never happier. A week when he cried and I cried as I took off his purple glitter nail polish for kindergarten orientation, because he wanted to show his new teacher.

And this bring me back to the shits.

I am just shitty at myself. Shitty that I make him take off his bangles when we leave the house. Shitty that I remove his headband when we go shopping. Shitty that I get shitty with people stare at him as he goes dancing down the street. Shitty that I care what other people think.

I am not going to be shitty anymore.

Most people who know Jack, accept the fact that he likes wearing girls clothes, likes dancing and singing and loves all things pink. But even some members of our family, although accept it, do question it. And I have had enough of that too. So the next time someone asks, “Do you think he’s gay?” there is a fair chance I might go berserk. Jack thinks he is an amazing dancer and a very good at drawing. He has not worked out what his sexuality is, being FOUR AND ALL, but it is of major, MAJOR concern to a lot of people for some reason…..

So now of behalf of my son Jack, I release him from the confines I have placed on him in the past and now he is free to be. Just be. And what that is is beautiful.