Finn's feminine charm

All political correctness aside, I must confess that I'm starting to wonder about my son's fascination with all things girlish.

Almost as soon as those fat little hands could reach for things, Finn was keen to get them on objects normally designated part of the feminine oeuvre. He loves hair-bands and barrettes. He applies both to his brilliant blonde locks quite adeptly, and then struts about the place announcing, "hat."

Playing dress-up
In his sister's room, there's a tub of dress-up clothes, spilling over with tulle and chiffon. There are scarves and gloves and a bewildering halter-top that came with a grass skirt, courtesy of Uncle Mike's trip to Hawaii. All of it is fodder for young Finnie, who puts skirts over his head and bucks about madly when he can't pull the delicate silky tank tops over his muscular calves.

Teetering on heels
And then there's the footwear. There is nothing this boy likes so much as to stumble about in his sister's dress-up shoes. Sometimes he struggles to jam his porky little piggies into the mules, but he's self-sufficient for a two-year-old left to his own devices with a pair of pumps. My main concern — aside from bunions and hammertoes down the road — is that he'll stumble down the stairs. I'm also not too fond of the occasional encounter his plastic heels make with my bare feet. But I must say he does look smashing. Especially when he pairs the shoes with shades and a great handbag.

Applying makeup
With all of this in his history, it shouldn't have surprised me when Finn went for the makeup. I keep my meagre collection of cosmetics in a cup on the bathroom window ledge. I suppose I could move it, but it's so convenient there. It is, too, for a little boy who's been hoisting himself up onto the toilet seat since he was mobile. Which explains why Finn occasionally shows up with great streaks of mascara across his face and eyeliner lining everything but his eyes.

Showing up the girls
He is a glamour puss, to be sure. And, with his incredibly long lashes and flaxen hair, he could probably put most little girls in the neighbourhood to shame — particularly in that little taffeta number. Indeed, at a birthday party this summer, he did just that, when the mother wheeled out little rose-coloured tutus and pink T-shirts with "princess" spelled out in rhinestones across the front.

It would have been too expensive to have a single "prince" shirt done up, she apologized, and said she hoped I wouldn't mind if Finn "the single male guest" had to wear the girl's uniform, too. "Mind?" I asked, as my little slugger appeared on the back deck in his skirt and tiara. He was carrying a princess scepter in one hand and a gold clutch-purse in the other. "What's to mind?"

mother's day