Learn all about how little men and women are made. Check out the Gay Uncle’s new essay on Babble, “The Gender Spectrum“. And while you’re there, take his “Gender Spectrum Quiz“.
Number Two
Writing about outdoor toileting–a post on which the G.U. received more than a few notes–reminded Gunc of a time he spent with his darling nieces Brookie and Grace, the oldest of whom was then just three and a half. They were on one of his boyfriend’s famed total-family summer trips, on a barren barrier island off the coast of North Carolina. Being the gracious uncle he is, Gunc had volunteered to remain with his nieces on the beach after everyone else had left, as the girls wanted to continue playing in the water. [Full disclosure: Gunc had only arrived at the beach forty minutes before: the family had been out there since dawn; he and Tal had been in their room “working”, avoiding their dramas.] He was enjoying his time with the girls, digging holes and playing in the foamy wave edges, when suddenly, Brooke–a scrawny, rambunctious little child who G.U. adores–announced in a somewhat panicked tone that she had to go to the bathroom. Gunc pointed at the surf. “There’s your toilet, darling” he said. “Go for it.” Brookie nodded and walked toward the water, and the Gay Uncle returned to playing Drown Barbie with her sister. When he turned around to check on Brooke’s progress a moment later, she was back to happily chasing the breaking waves. But there, not five feet behind her was a tiny and perfectly pyramidical structure. Gunc rose to examine it, fearful that it might be a sea creature’s emerging head, or an alien’s signpost to a buried treasure. But when he was close enough to see it in detail, he discovered that it was neither. Indeed, it was a delicate pile of his niece’s poo. Unwilling to pick it up, allow it to disturb the path of egg-laying sea turtles, or leave it to be discovered by one of the wealthy home owners who gathered on the shore every sunset with fancy lawn-chairs and bottles of Chard, he turned to the girl. “I think you missed the ocean by a few feet. Please cover that up.”
Babies Cry
The Gay Uncle is in the midst of writing an article about parents’ feelings on the first day of school, and in response to a request for stories, he received this one from a wonderful colleague of his. She explained that her older daughter was a very colicky baby–she cried all the time. Gunc’s friend had to resort to wearing ear plugs around the house in order to get any rest or peace. In keeping with the helpful habits of the medical profession, when she asked her pediatrician about this issue, he sighed and dismissed the problem, waving her off. “Babies cry,” he said. (Duh!)
Fast forward a bit to G.U.’s colleague returning to the work force. Her daughter was still quite little at this point, but said friend had found a great early childhood center she liked. She dropped her daughter off at preschool the first time, without mentioning this issue, and gleefully, and with much relief, peeled out of the parking lot to go back to her job.
When she came to pick her daughter up at the end of the day, the teachers looked kind of troubled and worn out. They pulled Gunc’s pal aside. “I want to ask this gently,” they said. “Do you think there’s a possibility that your daughter might be…colicky?” The proud back-to-work mom shrugged. “Babies cry,” she said.