When girls will be boys?

Since I seem to love pointing out when my boy is a boy and my girl is a girl, I suppose I should be equally eager to point out when my boy is a girl and my girl is a boy. At least, if we enjoy gender stereotyping and choose to pigeonhole our children in that way. And apparently, I do.

Take, for example, my children's relationship to dirt and mess. Nicky has always been a very clean and neat baby. He did not spit up. He was not a violent pooper. You dressed him in the morning, and most of the time, he was in the same clothes at night. He has always been meticulous, dare we say feminine?, about not getting his hands dirty. Long before he could talk, if he had one speck of something on his baby fingers, he held out his hands imperiously, waiting for one of the servants to come wipe them off. You may wipe the royal fingers. . .

On the occasion of his first birthday, we gave him a piece of cake that was his to mash and smear all over his face as he pleased. He played with it a little, then gave me a look like, um, lady, you gonna start feeding me that cake -- WITH A FORK? He doesn't like the feel of food on his face. As an infant, when he learned to spoon feed himself, he also learned to wipe the corners of his own mouth with the spoon -- who are those ill-mannered babies with goop all over their face? Not MY baby. At least, not my first baby.

And to this day, when my kids come in from playing outside all day, Nicky is rarely worse for wear. A little dirt here, a grass stain there.

But Laney? My little girly princess. She has been something else entirely. We changed her clothes three times a day from the day she was born. I don't know if the diapers in Norway suck or what, but they could not adequately contain my daughter's output. She doesn't give a darn if she's got food on her fingers. Heck, she doesn't give a darn if she's got food all over her face, her hands and her clothes. And at her first birthday party, she dug into her cake with relish. She had cake all over her face. All over her high chair. In her hair. She knew how to enjoy a piece of birthday cake.

And today, when they come in from a day of earthworm hunts and other outdoor activities, my Laney is covered from head to toe in grime. Her face is covered in dirt. Her hair is covered in grass. Last night, she even had grass inside her clothes and underwear. I don't know how she manages to get so boyishly dirty all of the time, but she does. If I wanted her to be in clean clothes all day, I would still be changing her clothes three times a day. She gets messy when she eats. She gets messy when she plays. There is no prissy wiping of the hands for her.