My son has an older sister. Whom he adores. If she throws a ball, he throws a ball. If she sits at the dinner table, he wants to sit at the dinner table. If she walks down the sidewalk without sitting in the stroller, he wants to walk down the sidewalk.
If she wants to paint her fingernails, he wants to paint his fingernails.
We haven’t painted his fingernails before. Not because he’s a boy. But because he’s one. And he hasn’t been able to hold still long enough for them to dry. But today we gave it a try. Before I left for work Mama and I painted their nails. Ells chose her color because it is the one actual “grown up” variety we have in the house. We have a kid’s bottle, coincidentally blue, but Ben wanted the exact same bottle that his older sister used. And he sat patiently still long enough to have one hand painted.
And then he helped blow on his fingers to dry them. And then he happily modeled them long enough for me to take this one blurry photo.
When I came home from work, he was sitting at the dining room table (he prefers the chair to his high chair now) and he yelled “Baba Baba!” and held up his hands so I could see. All day and he was still excited about it.
Mama took them out today and she says a girl about three years old asked, “Is he a girl? … Then why are his fingernails painted?”
This might be a good time to point out that he also loves playing with dolls. Because his sister does. Though I think he might enjoy it more than she did at this age. Perhaps because he has a model for how to play with them. He has his own (anatomically-correct) doll. But he also frequently plays with his sister’s (anatomically neutral / bald) dolls. He picks them up, kisses them (“mwah”), carries them around, covers them with blankets. Here he carried around his baby while wearing the grown-up Ergo and my ball cap.
Fingernail polish. Dolls. Not just for girls.