Who do you suppose it was who first thought, “You know what an infant girl would look good in?  Velour!  Cheetah print!  But, no, that’s not enough . . . it needs something else.  Something innocent.  Butterflies!  That’s it!  We will make velour track pants in cheetah print-no, make that PINK cheetah print, and a matching top with butterflies lined in pink cheetah print velour.  Yes!  I rock!  And they said I couldn’t design while huffing paint!”

The odd thing is, the kid looks good in it.  She can pull off pink cheetah print butterfly velour. 

Sadly, this is the least of my worries when it comes to TheologyBaby’s clothes.  That outfit was purchased for Christmas by her great-grandmother, and is infinite measures more tasteful that a lot of things I’ve seen in the kid’s size.  She has one outfit that is a midriff top and a mini-skirt (another gift).  Midriff?  For the pudge?  She has no waist to speak of, just a roll of chubbins that sticks out over top the denim (well-intentioned?) skirt.  And I have tried to teach her about irony, about why this outfit is kind of funny, but ultimately it just leaves me feeling kind of sad to see her in it.  So I change her into a sassy Gap onsie that says “teething bites” or “my crib rocks” or some such punk baby rocker pithy saying. 

But it does not end there.  Another outfit that I saw in a store that may or may not rhyme with “Shmallmart” had a pair of sweat pants with the word “hottie” on the butt, with a matching hoodie.  And then there were the low-cut dresses featuring FISH NET in-lays.  Isn’t that a choking hazard?  Fish nets?  For infants?  Again, I assume, paint huffing designers.

Eventually I assume she will demand to wear make-up at age six or shave her head in high-school.  Whatever.  I have long said that as long as she doesn’t expect me to call her college to complain about her roommate, I will consider myself successful as a parent.  Her appearance is up to her and the code of conduct of whatever institution to which she is subject (like, say, laws requiring clothes in public).  But while this sort of thing is in my control, I have vowed to avoid making my toddler look like a Bratz doll.  Gender her in pink sparkle cutesy-shmutsey I will (so help me, those little dresses are so stinkin’ cute), but it’s tasteful gendering.  Which years from now will make all the difference to her therapist I’m sure.