My Baby, the Fashionista

Dressing babies is fun. They don’t care what you put them in, it’s adorable when they look ridiculous, and you can change their outfit as many times each day as you please (out of necessity or just because) with very few complaints. Infant fashion shows are a rite of passage for new moms. Dressing toddlers is the opposite of fun.

            Every child between the ages of two and five would rather be naked than wear clothes. Getting my son to wear any clothes proves difficult. Luckily, he is old enough to understand that he can’t leave the house without clothes on (although he did once escape through the garage and run down the sidewalk buck naked screaming and giggling—ah, to be free) but when we’re home, I’m lucky if he’ll keep his underwear on.

            When it comes to picking out the actual clothes, that’s another problem. I recently bought him two pairs of these adorable, uber-trendy comfy skinny harem pants, with the tight legs and drop crouch. They are all the rage on the online mama shops, and since they were made of sweatpants material, I thought he would be thrilled.

            Between the day I ordered them and the day they were delivered, my son had given up sweatpants. Every time I tried to put the adorable harem pants on him, he screamed in protest, “NOT THOOOOOOSE ONES!!!!”

            It took some prodding, but I did get him to explain to me what exactly the problem with sweatpants is. Turns out, he “needs pockets to put his monies in.”

            He’s started collecting things: pennies he finds on the ground, quarters he convinces his grandparents to give him, small rocks or pieces of trash I don’t know about until they jam up my washing machine…

I should point out that his sweatpants have pockets. The harem ones actually have two. But his “collections” require more than that.

            If I’ve learned anything, it’s that parenting a toddler is about compromise. And compromising with a human who doesn’t have any idea what compromise means usually feels like negotiating with terrorists. Long story short, I found him some FIVE POCKET cargo pants. And to appease myself, they aren’t the baggy Abercrombie-style ones that were “all the rage” in high school Instead they have skinny legs, drawstring tops, sweatpants cuffs, and come in chic fall colors.

I don’t think my son actually cares at all what his pants look like; he only cares how many pockets they have. Just tall enough to see over the edge of his top dresser drawer where his pants are kept, he picks out his own pair each morning—based solely on how many pockets they have. My challenge is then to find a shirt to match.

The five-pocket skinnies have become his favorite. He owns them in three colors.