Babeland!

WE WERE RUNNING LATE. OF COURSE WE WERE. When you have a 5-month-old, it's difficult to be anywhere on time. Especially if you have to wrestle that 5-month-old into miniature formalwear, including a tiny dress shirt, tiny slacks, tiny sport coat and tiny bow tie.

I parked the car and hurried inside the mall, leaving my wife, Kellie, to unfasten our sleepy and unsuspecting son from his car seat. I walked briskly through the food court, past Cinnabon and Chick-fil-A, weaving among the slow-moving shoppers, maneuvering around kiosks offering sunglasses and cellphone accessories, pausing only to check the mall directory before half-jogging toward the spot where the competition was to be held. When I arrived, a little wild-eyed and out of breath, I discovered to my relief that the festivities were not yet underway.

We had made it. Just barely.

This was our second attempt to enter Henry in a beauty contest. On our first try, we arrived minutes after registration had ended and were forced to watch from the sidelines as other babies soaked up all the glory. But, this time, the makeshift stage in front of the glass elevator was empty, and parents were still straightening fluffy dresses and chasing down errant shoes. I filled out the necessary paperwork.

Name: Henry Bartlett

Age: 5 months

Eyes: blue

Hair was a little trickier. He had some fuzz up there but only if the light was just right and you kind of squinted. I wrote "none." I also left his favorite color blank because, really, how would we know? For favorite toy, I put "green dinosaur," even though "empty water bottle" would have been equally accurate. Henry is a baby of simple tastes.

Then came the real stumper: hobbies. I didn't think Henry had any, unless "looking around" or "grabbing" qualified. I was tempted to put down "knitting" or "motocross," but I restrained myself. The judges might deduct points for my attempt at humor. Besides, this wasn't about me. This was about Henry.

Well, kind of. Here's my confession: I entered my son in a children's beauty contest because I thought it would make a good story. Why do seemingly rational adults doll up their children and parade them around in front of strangers? Is it creepy or silly or something else entirely? Entering Henry would give me a chance to see pageants in a way I never could as an outsider, to delve into the meaning of it all and, perhaps, to poke a little fun along the way.

At least that was the idea. By the end, though, I just wanted to win.

EVERY PARENT IS ANNOYING IN HIS OR HER OWN SPECIAL WAY, and Kellie and I are no exceptions. Henry is our first child, and so, naturally, we're convinced we invented this whole reproduction thing. We're granola-eating snobs, too. We put our kid in cloth diapers rather than disposables. We prefer wearing slings to pushing strollers. We believe in "attachment parenting" and take Henry, barnacle-like, everywhere. Don't you hate us already?