Hannah, who is four (going on twenty-four!), has quite the developed fashion sense. From whence it developed, I have no idea. I’m also not sure if it’s fully developed (I’m guessing it’s NOT), but I’ll let you judge for yourself.
From the time she turned three, nearly two years ago, she has insisted on picking out her own clothes. Sometimes I could gently steer her away from her black and orange-striped Halloween pants and pink polka-dotted turtleneck with snowmen on it, and other times she put up such a convincing argument I decided it wasn’t worth the fight. (Pick your battles, you know? I’m learning.) I’m so thankful to my friends and neighbors, who, upon seeing her ensembles- and my immense discomfort at taking her out like that in public– rush up to me and say, “Isn’t it cute when they start to dress themselves? I LOVE her look.”
No, and oh HECK no. Let’s not encourage.
I do have to give her credit though– sometimes she does a good job combining tops and bottoms. It’s a fifty-fifty split, really, and it depends on what’s left in her drawer. Which brings me to my next point: MY CHILD CAN GO THROUGH 5 OUTFITS IN A DAY. Sometimes more. (Never less.) Complete outfits. Tops, skirts, shorts, pants, dresses, shoes, pajamas… and where do all these discarded looks go? On the floor or into the laundry hamper. Usually one first, and then the other, after I launch my “Your room is a pigsty” spiel. (And you wonder why she has so little to work with in her dresser…) It doesn’t matter that several of her outfits are designed to be worn as a set; she refuses to leave them together in her drawer. Instead, she breaks them up and wears them with other things. Even pajamas are subject to be mixed and matched, which makes it hard to keep up with how many of them she actually has.
Every morning she asks me to come and help her find something to wear. Every morning we stand at her dresser and I make suggestions. EVERY MORNING those suggestions are met with a sigh, an eye roll, and a “Welllll, how about this instead?” Or, “I really think this one would be better.” (To which I REALLY want to respond, “So why did you ask my opinion in the first place? And what is wrong with my choice? It’s CUTE! Yours doesn’t even match.” But I don’t. I think because I’m the adult? The mature, responsible one? Some days I’m not sure.) (And stop that laughing. I can HEAR you.)
This morning she surprised me by waking me up early and chirping about how happy today’s outfit would make me. I opened one eye, bit back a laugh, opened the other eye, blinked a few times, and decided that, while she had a little of the polygamist pants-under-a-skirt thing going on, as far as outfits go, it wasn’t that bad. Sort of cute, actually. Well-accessorized, even. (And how sweet of her to place so much importance on her outfit as it relates to my general disposition. On second thought, how observant!) 😀
I have decided to quit fighting her fashion (?!?) choices. Hannah is four, and she’s adorable. Everyone loves her, and for some strange reason, they think her clothing tastes makes her even more precious. For those who don’t know her and think I am a neglectful parent, well, I wish them a daughter who wants to choose her own clothes AND style her own hair, both at the same time.
Ha ha ha. Just you wait.