I know that I'm not supposed to mind when curious passerbys ask if they could say hello to my son, when they guess that my son is 4 1/2 months old, when tell me that my son is just precious while my sweet baby girl blinks up at them. It's just that nobody ever guesses correctly. I suppose it's my fault that I dress her in green and blue and beige - I'm just stubbornly refusing to believe that the only way people will know that my daughter is in fact my daughter is to throw her in some frothy pink concotion. I've got nothing against pink. I wear it often. But why in baby fashion must it be paired with the bows, the lace, the frilled, the (shudder) smocked? After a day of strangers commenting on my sweet boy, I caved and put her in what I thought was not only cute, pink but kinda subversive faux-preppy in asmuch as an 11 week old can be subversive ensemble. I called it The Future Bride of James Spader, complete with an actual polo logo on the dress. We proudly took her cute pink self to Fresh Slices for lunch - where the sweet old lady next to us asked us how old our son was.
The Future Bride of James Spader in one of her many tummy time fashion shoots.
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