The princess dilemma

Since baby number two was due, oh, momentarily, I was eager for some bonding with the big-sister-to-be. But when Mom is packing 40 extra pounds, it's best to aim for minimal movement.

Pedicures, I thought.

I can barely see my feet these days, let alone reach them with a brush. And pink toes would complement the temporary tattoos 4-year-old Ava had gotten at a birthday party: Sleeping Beauty on one hand, Belle on the other.

"Doesn't that seem like too much?" my husband asked when I announced my plans, and I could see his point. Controversy is brewing over nail polish on tots - and, more specifically, salons and spas that offer specialized treatments for the smallest set. Two years ago the Globe visited a girl-centered spa in Concord that held mani/pedi parties for kids as young as 4 years old. A similar story in The New York Times last winter drew a string of feverish comments, from complaints about elitism and sexualization of girls (one reader called the littlest clients "prosti-tots") to huffy declarations that parents should be taking their kids to museums instead. Because, of course, art appreciation and painted nails are mutually exclusive.

As with everything, there's a spectrum here, and good reason to balk over a pint-sized beauty queen in mascara, flipping through a copy of Cosmopolitan. But is a little bit of polish - or a coating of shimmery lip gloss - really tantamount to turning your preschooler into a sexpot? Are you sending her down a lifelong path of insecurity if you indulge her desire to look pretty?

Or does that desire come from somewhere deep within? Even those world-dominating Disney Princesses, after all, have their roots in human nature: The head of Disney Consumer Products went to an ice show, saw scads of preschool girls in frilly dresses, and saw an opening to sell them more Disney-branded stuff.

It was a brilliant corporate move but also admirably American: Spot a demand; come up with a way to capitalize. The concept works on a small scale, too. Ava's tattoos came from a "princess party" where the girls donned white gloves and drank tea from real china cups. (I'm told it tasted like apple juice.) It was run by Maureen McGrath, an elementary school teacher from Dorchester who took time off to raise two small kids, and had an entrepreneurial a-ha moment at a Build-a-Bear party.

Her business, Perfect Princess Parties, offers tea parties for preschoolers and spa-and-fondue fests for tweens, and has been drawing steady business for a year and a half. Even the youngest kids come prepared, McGrath says: They know which dresses they want to wear and how to handle a teacup. Ava fits that bill; she's well-versed in the princess pantheon and likes to prance around the house in shoes with feathered toes. Same goes for most of her friends - though one refuses to wear dresses or anything pink, no matter what her mother suggests.

She leaves Ava fascinated but unswayed; my little girl prefers her nails hot pink, and I'm seldom inclined to say no. Judge me if you must, but I've been giving her home manicures and pedicures for some time now. I think it appeals to both her inner princess and her inner artist. She insists on doing much of the job herself, and winds up with fingers so covered with polish that it looks like she just slaughtered a small chicken.

In that sense, a professional treatment was an improvement. I took Ava to my corner nail parlor of choice, a place that's clean, egalitarian, and cheap. When I sat in the pedicure chair, Ava watched with interest. She wanted to know if it tickled. When her turn came, she sat in a swivel chair and held out her fingers and toes. And because she didn't ask to hold the brush, things turned out considerably neater than usual.

Conspicuous consumption? Depends on your calculation. Her five-minute treatment cost me $10. And once we got back home, she requested "Bob the Builder" on TV. I'm thinking she'll turn out fine.

Joanna Weiss can be reached at weiss@globe.com