Today is Blogging for LGBT Families Day. I've been neck-deep in a paper on phonics instruction in the primary grades and wasn't really planning on writing anything non-phonics related, but my brain needs a break, so here I am. Plus, I've been thinking all weekend about this incident, so maybe talking about it here will help me be able to let it go a little bit.
On Friday evening there was a get together for a teacher I used to work with, so Jen stayed home with The Bean and Sprout and I went to the party. (Dinner and bedtime can be full-on when we're at a 2:2 ratio, I didn't feel right leaving her with both kiddos, though I'm sure she would have managed.) Many of my former co-workers were there and they all oohed and ahhed over Sprout. Many people also asked after The Bean, so I got to boast about both children.
Another woman and her partner arrived with their three week old baby. I struck up a brief conversation with the new dad as I was grabbing a few strawberries at the buffet. He casually asked if Sprout was my first child. I explained that no, she wasn't my first, but that my wife had carried our son. (It's true what they say about constantly having to out yourself after you have children.) He asked, "How old is your daughter?" I thought nothing of the question and simply replied, "Five months." He then asked how old "her son" --as in my wife's son-- was. I was floored. This is the first time anyone who I've explained our family situation to has treated me like our son was not mine. I calmly responded that our son is nearly two and a half. He didn't acknowledge the correction.
I am still upset.
Maybe I should have been more overt in stating that The Bean is most definitely my son, every bit as much as he is my wife's. Or maybe it's better that I didn't make a big deal out of it. I don't know. What would you have done?