It’s been my experience over the past 2.5 years that cute, non-puppy, non-cartoon character-laden, non-UGLY inexpensive boy clothes can be kind of hard to come by, so shopping’s difficult.
I’ve spent hours scouring the few stores that carry semi-decent, in-my-price-range boy clothes endlessly for Joshua’s outfits (at least the non-play clothes ones). Even if that means I’m scouring the same 3 racks of clothes.
In light of this, I have a confession to make that is absolutely INSANE.
Being a girl mom is hard. And New Girl isn’t even here yet.
Because shopping for girls is equally as hard as shopping for boys but for totally different reasons.
You see, I heard “It’s a girl!” at the ultrasound and visions of ruffles! and dresses! and tights! danced in my head. I thought “SHOPPING!!!” Most likely because I’m a girl.
And then I got home and started paying attention to my Zulily emails and Old Navy’s girl’s section online and putting stuff into and out of my online shopping carts. (And that’s pretty much the only two places I’ve “been” because, hello, Hell Week).
Want to know what I discovered?
THERE ARE TOO MANY CHOICES.
If there are 3 racks of little boy clothes, there are 30 racks for little girls. Do you know how hard it is to decide between the pink romper and the pink romper with little white flowers and the pink romper with little white and yellow flowers and the pink romper with the little white and yellow and blue flowers?
BECAUSE IT’S HARD.
And it’s hard to even choose between two solid pieces, too. Because how many solid purple onesies does a girl need? (Multiple, if you ask me. I mean, let’s not talk about the fact that I buy long-sleeved black t-shirts nearly every time I see them on sale, mmkay?)
And then I think “If I put her in too many dresses, will she rebel one day and become a female body builder? Or will she develop some sort of princess complex?” Like, can I screw my child up by what I put on her? (Judging by Toddlers and Tiaras, maybe.) I mean, I certainly don’t want to ruin her by dressing her in a way that typecasts her for the rest of her life.
Then there’s the practical side of me that thinks about the cute things I bought for Joshua that he never wore because we never go anywhere. (I’m looking at you linen pants and embroidered linen shirt screaming Panama-Jack-meet-ADORABLE BABY BOY and still hanging in his closet.)
All of these layered, jean-skirt and leggings outfits make my ovaries all twitchy but they scream “PAIN IN THE ASSETS!”
Because there will be poopsplosions, y’all. Probably more than one. I know enough to know that much.
And spit-up. And knowing my track record, a lot of spit-up.
I’m neurotic. (That’s not new information, people. Move along.)
How do I dress girl babies?