The 5 Toddler Styles

I was under the mistaken impression as a pre-mom, that if I had a boy I could buy ten sets of one-size-fits all overalls and generic dark colored onesies that come in a pack of ten and be done with it. But no, I have made the fascinating discovery over the past 19 months that toddlers have the capacity to be even more finicky, in regards to style, than an editor at Vogue. I blame the finicky-ness on the father; I’m perfectly content with my one size fits all mom uniform (aka yoga pants any shirt that doesn’t have buttons.) Under the tutelage of my toddler, I have ascertained the following to be five of the top toddler styles.

  1. The Nudist

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Many a toddler enjoys the liberating breeziness that accompanies the engrossing accessibility of the nudist lifestyle. If it were not so expensive to rent a steam cleaner, after the toddler poops on the rug, I would be a heartfelt proponent of this clothing option, or sans clothing option. Because my clothes are usually thoroughly toddler-soiled, mildewing in the long forgotten washer, or wrinkled on the floor, I’ve become a personal nudist enthusiast.

  1. The Fashion-ista

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There is a squad of Fedorables that frequent our neighborhood park, and I’m slightly embarrassed to admit my son frequently leads the pack. Again, I blame it on his fedora-wearing father. If you haven’t established that a Fedorable is a fedora wearing toddler that will likely end up in a hipster band later in life, that’s what it is, and my tot is a card carrying member; he’s already begun to fine tune his skills on the electric keyboard and hipster harmonica. A fedora is not a requirement of the fashion-ista toddler, but a hip “in” clothing item is a must. This tiny token of coolness may come in the form a faux fur vest, twirly skirt, designer tutu, TOMS, or intentionally ripped $80 jeans.

  1. The Minimalist

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The simpler the better for this tot; the name of their game is simplicity, functionality, and comfort. They have no patience for the scores of buttons that accompany a patterned button-up blouse and accompanying hip-kid vest, and find the rawness of the Nudist style to be supremely inconvenient when trying to prevent sand from entering their crack at the park. This child is the one I imagined when I bought stock in Osh Kosh B’Gosh, anticipating the need to buy large quantities of the previously mentioned overalls.

  1. The Costumer
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He loves it.

This tot, similar to the fashion-ista, has a flair for the dramatics and has no problem sacrificing comfort in favor of making a bold statement. This is the child who bravely dons their fully insulated astronaut costume when accompanying mom to the store on a 100 plus degree summer-day, or the ballerina who must be dressed in her finest leotard and tutu when attending the Nutcracker on a balmy minus five-degree winter night. And don’t even think of diminishing the integrity of the tutu by encouraging the application of a coat.

  1. The PJ-er

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The PJ-er shuns any clothing item that isn’t composed of flannel, or does not have built-in footies. This child is true to my heart, and I am still this child. I’m such a proponent of resisting the removal of my flannels, or sleepy-time-yoga-pants, that my fully dressed fashion-ista child has taken my hand and led me to my closet, encouraging I put on “real clothes.” True story. I’m certain my next child will happily sit in their drool stained pjs with me all day, politely passing on social invitations that would require we leave the house. Unfortunately for me, the public ‘PJ-er’ toddler is much more socially acceptable that the public ‘PJ-er’ mother; I’m actively working on reversing this social stigma, one ‘flannel pj shirt and slept in yoga pants’ day at a time.

What style does your toddler rock? A combo of the minimalist and PJ-er? A fashion-ista with a sprinkle of Costumer? A 24/7 nudist?

Ode to The Boy

Here’s a bit of ha-ha from this amateur poet.

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Oh little boy, my love for you is off the charts.

Your smiles melt my heart, and your toots smell like farts.

You tug on that penis, like it might come apart,

And your drawings with my mascara are state of the art.

I love the special treasures that you hide in our laundry cart,

But get a weary feeling when I stick my hand in a moldy tart.

I cherish our special feedings, on the tampon aisle at the mart,

But when you bite me while you’re feeding, I always give a start, (or let out a fart.)

Although I’m unsure that mac and cheese is best served a la carte,

The kale and spinach I’ll sneak into your next meal, will surely provide a dietary restart.

You are quite michevious, but do not yet rival Bart.

Don’t tell other parents I say so, but I know you’re extra smart,

I know so, the doctor has shown me all the ‘smarty’ charts.

In your honor, I won’t end this poem till I use every word that rhymes with fart.

In regards to spreading smiles, laughs, and poop, you really do your part.

Oh my preciously radiant, tugging, and tooting prince, you’ll never lose my heart.

Dear little boy,

I love you.

Dearest Child (Today was Awesome)

(The following is not a 100% true story, but based on reality, don’t tell anyone.)

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Dearest Child,

This morning, on this day of Not-The-Weekend, 2015, we will stay in our pajamas and eat whatever refined sugar treat we can find in the freezer.

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If you can find it on my tablet thingy, you can watch that episode of that animated show you’ve seen approximately 1,256 times, 15 more times.

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We will not engage in any preplanned physical activity, and say that we did.

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We will close the curtains, turn the rain sound machine on, cozy up under the covers, and pretend we can’t do anything productive because it’s raining.

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We will put two sticks of butter out to soften, in preparation of burning some baked goodness, then lose motivation and make something easy out of the crescent roll dough sitting in the fridge from Thanksgiving.

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I won’t gripe at you for yanking all my “perfectly ironed” clothing down from the closet, creating a pile, and using it as a makeshift mound of leaves; I’ll even join you.

(We were having too much fun to take a photo.) 

If one of our mommy-baby couple friends knocks on the door, stopping by for an impromptu visit, we’ll hide in the bathroom until we’re certain they’re gone, so they won’t see our chocolate stained faces, semi-stinky pajamas, and happily guilt laden faces.

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I’ll hide my phone and only pick it up if Nana calls more than three times.

Because “it’s raining outside” you can use the chalk on that spot of the carpet that was soaked in coffee, or something else, long ago, what’s a little chalk going to hurt?

If we do select to bathe today, we’ll fill the tub with ten times the amount of recommended bubble bath and will summon our impressive fleet of rubber duckies, and have rubber ducky wars. Then, we’ll put our pajamas back on, the dirty ones, if we can’t find any others.

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Above all else, we’ll lie when daddy gets home and tell him we’re only wearing our pajamas because we’ve had such a healthfully productive day we’re going to bed early. Luckily, you cannot yet intelligibly talk, so I’ll do the lying thank you.

Today was awesome, you’re pretty cool, let’s do it again sometime.

Love,

Mom