Why Bad Outfits Shouldn't Happen To Good Babies

'A little girl the minute she is born is already the woman she will be.  So to empower a little girl is to empower the woman she will become.'                                            -Diane Von Furstenburg

A couple months ago while my parents were taking care of Poppy for the weekend I stumbled upon the following photo on facebook:

'there has clearly been a lapse in judgement here' said poppy.

I looked, but could find no caption saying something to the effect of 'Poppy just put on a skit for us in which she played Molly Ringwald circa Pretty In Pink'.

When I saw that Poppy was wearing this outfit, I began to panic.  I knew that I was being irrational and yet I was still genuinely bothered.

To me, you see, this outfit is spectacularly bad.  To begin with, the hat is reminiscent of a prohibition era flapper girl.  Not a desirable look.  Secondly, I might have been okay with mixing the tulle fabric with a zebra print...that juxtaposition is kind of interesting.  But then one can't help but notice the large, anachronistic pink bow in the middle of the outfit.  I've seen pictures of myself as a little girl in the late 80s/early 90s wearing these types of bows.  Judging by my facial expressions in these pictures, it seems that I didn't find them attractive then either.  As a matter of fact, I'd say that my expressions were similar to Poppy's expression in this photo.

Why does it bother me so much when one of the grandparents dresses Poppy up in an aesthetically unappealing outfit?  (Well, to be fair, the outfit in this particular episode was a few steps beyond aesthetically appealing.)  Matt says that it's because 'I have a lot of pride wrapped up in this baby'.  I guess that's true, and it reminded me of the theme of the Diane Von Furstenburg for Gap Kids commercial that I saw in this past Spring:

DVF talking to a little girl on the set:  'Give them a little attitude....that is chic, don't you think?'

the little girl nods, pretending to know what 'chic' means

DVF talking to the camera:  'A little girl the minute she is born is already the woman she will be.  So to empower a little girl is to empower the woman she will become.'

Matt thought that this was a ridiculous statement.  Admittedly, I'm not sure that the logic here is completely sound.  But as I think about this idea again, now that I actually have a little girl, I do understand what Diane meant here.  I might even add that empowering the little girl empowers the mother as well.

By the way, I'm not sure that Baby Gap gets enough street cred*.  Here are a some of their excellent (and inexpensive) clothes that I've recently bought for Poppy.  I must say that she is looking chic this season-

this really keeps her warm-

i got her this, except with navy cables down the middle.
very wimbledon.  

i have a military sweater like this in blue.  
i try to put something pink on her when she
wears this so that she doesn't look androgynous.
it looks nike with pink pants. 

i bought this in 12-18 months so she can wear it in the Spring-

when i put this on her head, it doesn't really look right.
the only reason I bought it was so people
might stop mistaking her for a boy.  

(I would never say 'do they make this in my size?', but I will say that Baby Gap clothes are way more hip and interesting than Big Girl Gap clothes.)

http://www.gap.com/browse/category.do?cid=14249#department=165

*While I was still pregnant I decided that it would be a good idea to get Matt slightly tipsy at Shin-Sei (that excellent Asian restaurant on Lovers Lane), and then take him baby clothes shopping at the Baby Gap just across the street.  It was indeed a good idea because Poppy ended up with many outfits from the DVF for Gap Kids line.

The Pop-Tart Has A Cold, But Everything Will Be Okay

i should really buy one of these artery thermometers-

The Pop-Tart has a cold.  It was scary at first.  Yesterday (Saturday) morning, when she was coughing a lot and looking uncharacteristically bummed out, I decided to take her temperature again.  It was 96.something, but I'm never sure that I'm taking her temperature correctly.   The nurses went the armpit route when Poppy was in the NICU.  I saw these qualified ladies do the taking of the temperature many, many times.  They even let me do it a few times in an attempt to make me feel included and less helpless.  As it turns out, I could have had more faith in my temperature taking abilities on Saturday.

At 7:45am, I call Poppy's pediatrician's office.  It's called The Pediatric Associates of Dallas – these people are organized, they have a fancy website, and they have a whole heap of Pediatricians (some of whom come in on Saturdays).

ring ring, ring ring

a chipper nurse:  'Good Morning, Pediatric Associates of Dallas.'

me:  'Hello.  Um, my baby is sick.'

the chipper nurse:  'Alright.  Dr. Hubbard has an opening at 9:45 this morning.  What's your child's name?'

me:  'Perfect.  My daughter is already a patient with you guys.  Her name is Poppy Darrah.  Poppy, P-O-P-P-Y.  Darrah, D-A-R-R-A-H.'

the chipper nurse:  'Okay, see you at 9:45.'

Her little eyes are red, and the phlegm in her chest is audible.  Very audible – I can hear it doing activities in her lungs.  She looks drowsy and sick.  It's maybe 8:15am now, and she is laying on her back in my bed and dozing off.  I am watching her little chest more intently than I would a new episode of Mad Men.  For some reason, I think that she may quit breathing.  I call The Pediatric Associates of Dallas again.

ring ring, ring ring

the chipper nurse:  'Good Morning, Pediatric Associates of Dallas.'

me:  'Hi, um, I already have an appointment for 9:45, but is there anything any earlier?  You see, my baby has never been sick before and she is coughing a lot and breathing heavily...'

the chipper nurse, who has clearly heard the neurotic mommy racket before, replies with a courteous:  'The doctors don't normally get in until 9:00, or 9:30, but you can go ahead and come on in.'

me, sounding relieved:  'Great.  Thanks.'

I then herd Matt, Poppy to the car.  I drive very quickly to the pediatricians' office.  Matt is making smallish talk that I ignore because all I'm thinking is:
'Must get Poppy to doctor.  Must get Poppy to doctor.  No talk.  Doctor.'

I'm driving fast because I want answers, I want medicine, and I want them now now.

We find the office, and I sign in with the nurse at 8:55am.  I choose to park our little posse in the alternative waiting room.  You know the one I mean – the smaller waiting room reserved for contagious babies who have fevers and tropical diseases.

We've waited for about 10 minutes when I decide that it's a good idea to go loiter around the partition whilst holding Poppy.  Maybe nurses will see how sick my baby is and get the ball rolling here.  This plan doesn't seem to be working, so I switch to a more direct strategy.

me:  'Hi, could someone go ahead and take my baby's temperature?'

one of the other chipper nurses:  'Sure!  Let's go ahead and get you into a room.'

The three of us shuffle into a tiny but brightly decorated examination room that seems even smaller once my crew and my anxiety are in there.  The nurse takes Poppy's temperature and oxygen levels, both of which are normal.

We then wait in this room for about 20 minutes.  I am nervous and listening through the thin walls, trying to determine if any doctors have arrived yet.

Dr. Hubbard opens the door.  I had never met Dr. Hubbard before.  She's an attractive, energetic lady who is perhaps in her late fifties.  She is wearing leopard print flats and skinny jeans under her white lab coat.  I assume that the getup is part of this casual Saturday protocol.

Dr. Hubbard:  'Hello there!'

She swiftly begins examining Poppy while she is still in Matt's arms.  She checks out Poppy's ears, which are of course, perfect.  She then puts Poppy on the crinkly paper and puts the wooden stick in her mouth.  Poppy likes this wooden stick and is allowed to keep it.

During the time Dr. Hubbard is examining Poppy she is also talking.  Her speech is delivered with the informality you'd expect from an old college roommate – approachable and charming.  She tells us to wash our hands and Poppy's hands diligently, and that we should watch Poppy's chest because that's how we can tell if she needs to come in.  If it's going up and down in a easy, rhythmic fashion (as it was while Dr. Hubbard was giving us this information), and if she doesn't have a fever - then Poppy is fine.

me:  'So what's wrong with her?  She really is sick, she seemed sicker at home...'

Dr. Hubbard:  'She just has a cold.  Every kid has a cold right now.  I would say that it'd be weird if she didn't have a cold.  She'll probably have a cold until May.  Here, take my card.'

She hands Matt her bright orange card:  Sue Hubbard, MD.  The Kid's Doctor Extraordinaire*.


Dr. Hubbard:  'I have a website and a radio show.....'

She says some other things but I am confused at this point, so it's a bit of a blur.

me:  'So she doesn't need any medicine?'

Dr. Hubbard:  'Nope, no medicine.  Get a humidifier and wash her hands a lot.'

And then she whisks away in her leopard print flats.


It turns out that I was taking Poppy's temperature correctly – she just didn't have a fever.  So this story circles back to what I always say yet only occasionally believe, which is:  The kid will be fine.




http://kidsdr.com/
http://paddallas.com/


* I added the 'extraordinaire' part.

Teenage Bedrooms

Our apartment is clean, and clutter-free.  While growing up, my room was only clean some of the time.  It was clean maybe 20% of the time.  I remember saying things like 'why do you care if my room is clean if door is shut?'

I came across the following article NY Times this week:

Teenage Bedroom as Battleground:
http://www.nytimes.com/2012/11/01/garden/teenage-bedroom-as-battleground.html?pagewanted=all

The NY Times article says that one of the reasons that parents nag their kids keep their rooms clean is because they are 'embarrassed...they wonder whether it represents their lack of parenting control.'  Does a messy room mean that the parents have poorly prepared their children to care for themselves?

The article goes through several examples of teenagers who have epically messy rooms, and whose parents simply try to ignore it.  These parents deal with the fore-mentioned parental anxieties by reminding themselves that their kid makes straight As and is heavily active in one activities circuit or another.  

I wish that my parents had taken a more hands-off approach regarding my bedroom's level of cleanliness.  Instead, it was a perpetually angsty battle with no clear winner.

At the moment, Poppy's room is pristine and beautiful (this can be attributed to my uninterrupted saga of apartment tidying).  When she is older, will I resort to threats and bribery to get her to keep her room clean?  Frankly, I can't imagine that I will ever care that much.


So, after some reflexion on this topic, I have come to the following conclusion:  Poppy will probably keep her room clean and neat all on her own.  She will probably have this innate desire to impress Matt and I with her domestic organizational skills.

In the event that she does have a messy bedroom, I have no intention of nagging her.  Personally, I've never enjoyed being nagged; nor do I enjoy doing the nagging.  This is a pre-emptive boycott of the nagging.  Poppy will be allowed to keep her room in whichever state of cleanliness she finds appealing, as long as she picks up after herself in the rest of the house.

'poppy, will your room been in a state of anarchy when you're a teenager?  
will i let it go, or will i nag you about it for years?'