Putting the "Why?" in XY

Stacy has made a disturbing discovery of late.  It seems, perhaps, one of her children might, just possibly, be male.  Over the last month or two her shining little cherub, her cuddle-muffin, her sweetie-pie, has slowly transformed like Lon Chaney's wolfman into something much more loud, aggressive and decidedly uncivilized.  What used to be spontaneous kisses are now body slams from across the room.  What were once hand-holdings and shoulder snuggles are now "pinchies" and "pokies."  The oft-whispered "I love you's" of a former mild-child have been replaced by a small cyclone who swirls into your immediate vicinity, screams into your ear, and then swirls off in some other direction to send papers and anything else unsecured whipping through the air.  Even the bathroom is beginning to take on a somewhat rest area-like ambiance, since in his bathroom "technique" in front of the toilet, he could almost be mistaken for the conductor of a marching band.

I think I may have contributed to it in an indirect sense - as sort of an enabler.  On a recent trip to Washington I brought back the kids two plastic swords and scabbards upon which they immediately pounced and set about  skewering the world.  They insisted on bringing them on a family walk a few evenings later.  On the walk I managed to observe N brandishing his sword and educating his sister on the best way to kill all the cats they would surely encounter.

Stacy is shocked and depressed and feels a little like she was sold a bill of goods with this kid.  L is growing steadily more perplexed as her former rag doll, milk-toast now occasionally hits back.  I'm somewhere between amused and relieved, thinking it's about time.  He was really getting too big for that Snow White dress.