Tights on a Toddler

Putting outfits together has never been my strong suit. I have retreated to a safe position of neutral clothes (jeans + t-shirt = happy) and big funky jewelry. Some people have said things like "I wish I could wear a necklace like that, but I don't think I could pull it off." The secret answer is that my big necklaces keep you from noticing that I'm wearing last year's jeans. I go in for a bit of a "hippy/business casual/bohemian/this-was-the-only-clean-sweater-I-could-find" look.

So, styling Darling Daughter for a weekly appearance at church has historically been a bit of a trial for me. Do we go casual to show my disregard for the patriarchal insistence that women must be attractively kitted out from the moment of our birth? Do I let Darling wear her sweatpants to church to illustrate what a forward thinking Mom I am to let her make her own choices? (Sometimes, yes. And mothers everywhere share a slight shrug and an eye roll with me when they see us out in public in our party shoes, paisley pants and a football jersey that is a few sizes too small.) Or do I try, against all my good judgement backed up by three years of experience, to put together an outfit that matches, fits and is event appropriate?

Ambitious Mom took over this weekend, and I put Darling in a planned outfit of a skirt, tights and tunic. She wasn't very keen on the whole idea until I told her she could chose between her cow-boots and her party shoes. Fancy shoes? No, not the fancy shoes, the party shoes. Alright, then, she would do it, but she really did think the fancy shoes would go better than the party shoes.

Everything was going really well, believe it or not. There was even a girl at church that had the same shoes as Darling, though I don't think she was wearing them in a casually ironic way, which is the message I was attempting to send. The tights were a surprisingly big hit, and Darling mentioned to more than one person that she was, in fact, wearing tights that day.

We were enjoying a relativly snarl free Sunday afternoon at my parents house when it became clear to us that someone needed a new diaper. After elucidating the finer points of the being free of diapers and launching into a description of the brave new world of potty training, I changed her diaper and put her outfit back together. I was also telling a not-very-funny anecdote to Husby, St. Nana and Papa while hitching Darling's tights back up under her skirt.

I noticed that all three of my audience members were wearing a similar, odd smirk. I silently reviewed my anecdote in my head to figure out what they thought was so amusing. Finally, Hubsy snickered and asked if I was forgetting something.

Huh?

St. Nana and Papa were clearly holding in serious laughter. I looked around divine the cause of this amusement and came up empty handed.

"Did you forget to do something?" Husby wondered, unhelpfully. St. Nana and Papa were giggling. Nice supportive family I have, don't you know...

"The diaper. You forgot to put a diaper on her."

I looked at Darling, who looked back at me with as much confusion as I felt. Neither of us had noticed that I had completely forgotten to put a new diaper on her after clearing off the first one. I had simply carried on with the business of putting her matching outfit back together without bothering to supply an important, foundational layer.

Oops. I had to redo the whole process with my unsupportive family cackling in the background. At that point, I reminded them that Fat Baby is only eight weeks old and that they still have to be nice to me. It didn't work, though Papa did promise to keep the house stocked with Heineken Light so he, at least, is back in my good graces.