Huck received some fingernail polish for his birthday and had me paint his nails black and green with purple Crackle, which he was very excited to try.  Apparently there’s nothing crazier than seeing a boy with painted nails, and over the last week he’s hinted a few times that he gets teased about it, mostly by girls a bit older than him.   Last night he very awkwardly told me that at jazz choir some older girls laughed at him literally behind his back as they practiced for Saturday night’s concert.  I couldn’t bear these tales and like a scaredy cat suggested we go right into the bathroom and take that nail polish off, which pretty much goes against everything I believe in but just may protect my baby from the mean old world.  Sticking to his much stronger guns, Huck insisted that he keep the polish on because he loves it so much. On the verge of tears I kept asking him more and more questions about the teasing until he finally looked at me very seriously and told me to stop talking about it or I was going to make him cry.  And with that conversation I think I just ensured that he’ll probably think twice before telling his emotional mother another sad story.

He’s barely got any hair, he’s lost most of his teeth and now this?  I feel like I’m sending him out into the world to be eaten alive.  The least I can do is stop painting his nails!

What gets me is that Huck’s been dealing with this for a while now, and I keep thinking his love for nail polish will fade away because the message that he’s weird for wearing it will win out.  But it’s not.  And while the Person in me loves and admires this, the Mother in me wants to throw his amazing nail care collection into the nearest trash bin.

Getting ready for school this morning Huck sweetly reassured me with this: “No one at school makes fun of me.”  And that’s something.

Oy, this is going to be a long life.