Can I make my son gay?

Okay, so this morning I’m trying to put my daughter’s hair up which is basically like trying to put the Tasmanian Devil’s hair into a ponytail when my two-year-old son walks up to me holding a hair band.

HOLDEN: Pony hair.

ME: Thanks Holden. Zoey, hold the F still.

Well, I didn’t use the F word out loud but I sure as hell said it in my head. Like 9,000 times.

HOLDEN: Pony hair Holden!

Wait, what? Lemme get this straight. My daughter who’s into princesses and unicorns and glitter and other shit that makes me want to barf wants nothing to do with a ponytail, but my son, the one with a penis and a scrotum and short hair is dying for one. WTF?

Well, I’ve always said I don’t care what my kids wear as long as it’s seasonally appropriate…

Miley2 copy

... so I put his hair up into the dinkiest little pointy ponytail you’ve ever seen. I mean I never really pictured my son wearing Pebbles' hairdo, but there's a lot of shit I didn't picture when I imagined what being a parent would be like. Anyways, we go out and about our day like this and then later we get home and what’s the first thing he does?

HOLDEN: This one.

And he hands me a Tinkerbell sippy cup. And then two hours later this.

HOLDEN: Put on.

And he’s holding a Cinderella dress.

And as he’s standing there looking oh-so-pretty all I can think is Dear God please don’t let my husband walk through the door right now and see his SON modeling a princess gown, holding a fairy cup and wearing an updo.

(door slamming)

HUBBY: Honey, I’m home!


HUBBY: What the? We can’t let him dress like that.

ME: Why?

HUBBY: Because what if it makes him gay?

ME: You can’t make someone gay.

Now the hubster and I have had this discussion many many times before and every time it sucks. Because I believe people are gay by nature. And he believes people are gay by nature AND nurture.

HUBBY: But what if you can?

ME: You can’t.

HUBBY: But what if you can?

ME: You can’t.



(insert giant awkward pause here because we realize we sound like children and there’s not much else to say)

ME: Besides he likes it. Let him be happy.

Because here’s the thing. I don’t care if my son is gay. I don’t care if he was born gay and I don’t care if he grows into someone who’s gay. And if I could make him gay, which I don’t think I can, I don’t really care if I accidentally do. Gay people are awesome. I mean not all of them because some of them are mean and they suck just like some straight people are mean and suck. But they don’t suck because they’re gay. Well, they suck something. But I digress. Big time.

Alls I really care about is that my son grows up and is happy. And that he moves into the house next door to me and gives me lots and lots of grandbabies. I don’t really care whether he does this with Justine or Justin, Christina or Christopher, Lauren or Loren. Although who the F names their son Loren? I’m not sure I’d want them for in-laws.

Anyways, I guess there are times I think it would be better if he were straight because life might be easier, mayyyyybe. Or maybe not. He could be a straight kid who’s bullied constantly. Or a straight kid who’s socially awkward and can’t make friends. Or a straight kid who's a douchebag who shoves kids in lockers and trashcans and shit. I’d rather have a gay son who’s happy. But that’s just me. And I’m pretty sure my husband feels the same way even though we have these annoying discussions sometimes.

At this moment we look over at our son who’s standing there wearing three things—a princess dress, a ponytail, and a fairy sippy cup. Wait, no, four things— a princess dress, a ponytail, a fairy sippy cup and a big ass smile.

ME: You have to admit he does look cute.

HUBBY: And happy.

If you like this, please join my Facebook page and follow me on Twitter and buy my book that's coming out this October. It's called I Heart my Little A-Holes...


... and it's funny as shit. Not that shit's funny. Well, it kinda is. Unless it's on my hand after I change a diaper. Then it's not funny at all.

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