While motionless at a stop light my eyes fixed on a peculiar sign saying “Is 65% sure good enough? Find out if it’s a boy or a girl!” Peculiar because the sign was attached to a day care facility.

My mind immediately conjured an image of parents in Small Town USA taking their preschoolers in for genetic testing to determine whether, in fact, they are boys or girls. As if birthing/knowing/raising our children only provides 65% assurance and we all want 100%, right?

Confused I started looking at the two adjacent little buildings and saw that one was an ultrasound facility. “Okay! I gotcha now.”, I thought as the light turned green and the semi trucks and I eased back into our crawl.

Somehow I couldn’t stop thinking of that little sign. Even a few months ago a pregnant friend told me she wasn’t going to find out the sex of her unborn child. My reaction? I went into my usual rant about being a planner and wanting to know. All on auto-pilot, all the words and phrases I had used all these years. I might have even said “You are nuts! I had to know.”, like I had so many times before. I wasn’t even thinking. Like the words were simply pre-programmed. I opened my mouth and then fell right out.

Looking back at that conversation I almost cringe. I am still giving people a hard time for not caring about the sex of their baby? In the first place who am I to say/think anyone is crazy for doing anything. Why would I care? Second, haven’t I learned a single thing? Did I really find out if my baby was boy or a girl seven years ago when I laid on that chilly table, goo dripping from my engorged belly? What did I do differently when I found out? A lot.

“We made out like bandits!”, my husband proclaimed when we heard that our baby was a boy. When the technician gave him a strange glance, he explained that girls are so expensive. We just escaped a world of outfits, bows, purses, shoes, accessories… you name it. American Girl, we escaped American Girl! The once simple butter-yellow room was soon accented by navy and denim. Blue wrapping housing blue this, that and the other thing flooded in when everyone found out. It’s a boy!

Evidently the joke is on us.

What do they always say… “if I knew then what I know now” I would do it all differently? Hindsight is 20/20. I wasn’t in the same space. I didn’t know. Rather than beat myself up for making gender specific choices, I’d like to fantasize a bit about sending my message for all new parents. I wish I could go to the ultrasound waiting rooms, maternity wards and the Lamaze classes and give a speech about not caring about if it’s a boy or a girl. About not choosing pink or blue depending on what the “results” were. I’d put it on the line and finally say the words I’ve been holding back for the past few years… I wish I didn’t push all the boy stuff on my children. There! I said it.

Sure, I never thought twice about my kids playing with what I considered “girl stuff” back then, but I never bought it. I remember when a friend gave me an outfit that she said was “too boy looking” for her girls and I donated it because I thought it looked too feminine for my son. Could I have been a little less rigid? Could I have gone toward the middle of the kid’s clothing store rather than taking a sharp right and spending my time knee-deep in skater pants and construction tees? Could I have placed less emphasis on gender in general? I wish I could go back, but today I sit right here knowing what I know for a reason.

Today we talk about the limitless possibilities for all people- boys and girls all around the world. You want to be a nuclear physicist, a nanny or a miner- go for it! You want your toes painted with polish- you got it! You want to play dress up as a princess or a tank engine- no problem! Be both at the same time! There are no rules.

Every step of my past has taken me to where I enjoy today. With both my daughter and my son feeling secure with being emotional and powerful, artistic and analytic, nurturing and athletic. Being everything that they are naturally without judgment, without censorship, knowing that every day we may feel different or the same.

Sure, I still get tripped up on the road to gender freedom and stop myself to explain it to them (or maybe to myself) that even though I was raised differently I can still open my mind to new ways of thinking. It’s never too late to find out that it doesn’t matter.

Six years have passed since I gave birth to and met this amazing person and I am the one who feels like I got the best present of all- her in my life. I’m inspired by her courage, graced by her laughter and downright impressed by her resiliency in this world.

What is most powerful is that incredible little person turned this selfish, wayward soul into someone who believes they can move mountains for love. Singlehandedly she took off the blinders that perpetually limited my sight, introducing me to the beauty of absolutely everything around me.

I took a moment and looked through her pictures over the years and I stop at one photo when she was little. That smile radiates and her hand is open toward me, the photographer. She is playfully beckoning me to join her and the ongoing adventure that surrounds her presence at all times. Like she’s daring me to walk on the wild side. Her old-soul look is there, even as a toddler, and by looking at this photo I am transported to that magical time when my heart began melting and I became alive for the first time.

Each person has their own way of expressing themselves. My 5 year old son became possessed by Hermione Grainger about a year ago and started speaking with a very authoritative British voice in everyday life. He would quote her, dress like her and literally embody the character. He said he was a girl inside.

While the bossy voice only lasted for only a couple months (now he just uses it when he is “playing the character” as he explains), being a girl inside is something that he still talks about now and again when he feels like it. We choose to simply listen and support where he goes with it. We’re not oblivious… we had the discussion about the way his body was made, but does that determine who you are inside?

Does it matter that he likes to decorate himself? For Halloween he got the full wig and Hogwarts cloak and tie. He also asked Santa for a princess outfit (which Hermione prefers on more formal occasions). We aren’t afraid of him wearing these clothes. I believe it allows him to express himself and explore his imagination conjuring an intricate web of his own stories and characters. Who knows where this type of creativity could lead him?

Today he came to me and asked if we could cut his Hermione hair and I agreed. Very specific about the style (very Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone), I asked him if he realized that it would never grow back. His quizzical expression said it all. “It’s a wig Mom”, he politely informed me like an old soul gently reaching out to youth.

Not everyone likes this- I get that. This might not be a choice another parent would make and that is okay with us. This is our choice. It works for us. Nevertheless, some people who are close to us communicate a cautious warning (or two) as if wearing dress up clothes will make him scarred for life. While I appreciate the care they show for us, it doesn’t change the way we support him or allow him to navigate through his feelings. So what if he feels like a girl inside? So what if he likes to dress up and play characters?

We are proud of who he is inside and out. A sensitive, loving, funny, intelligent, ethical and dynamic individual who knows he can always come to his parents and tell them the truth. He knows from experience that we will remain open and listen without fear or anger. His feelings and thoughts have a safe haven in our loving outstretched arms and minds. That is enough for us.