Dressy

"Mommy, why are you wearing yoga pants?" Charlotte asked me. I detected some judgment in her voice.

"Because, noodle," I said. "I worked from home today and didn't really feel like getting dressed up."

Charlotte sighed, exasperated. "But today is dress day."

Let me tell you, folks. Around here, EVERY DAMN DAY is dress day.

I enjoyed a golden period with Charlotte in which I had total control over what she wore each day. It lasted for exactly 4 years.

Granted, many kids get all opinionated about what they want to wear much younger than Charlotte, so I do feel lucky. And sure, every now and then, Charlotte would get it into her head that she simply HAD to wear her UW shirt with polka dot shorts. In January. But overall, she wore what I wanted her to wear.

It's not like I treated Charlotte like a little doll. Oh, it was fun to pick out an Easter dress for her, or see her in a darling flowery sundress with rays of light shining down on her. Or, you know, ensure she had enough Seahawks garb. But really, having control over the wardrobe meant a much faster morning routine. On Sundays, I set out all clothes for the girls for the entire week (each day is a slot in a sweater organizer hanging in each girl's closet). Picking out clothes during a busy morning or (gasp!) having Chris attempt to concoct a coordinated outfit was entirely eliminated by my system.

And the system worked well. For years! But all of that is in the past. Charlotte has become incredibly particular about what she wears, and she has developed quite a preoccupation with being pretty.

This is a two-pronged problem. First, there's the day-to-day arguing over why she can't wear an Easter dress to school. Arguments of muddy playgrounds or freezing weather fall on deaf ears. She is insistent on wearing a dress. Every day. Fortunately, I unearthed some hand-me-down casual knit dresses from her cousins that are a smidge big but worth having her wear to avoid dressing drama. They're casual enough for school and work just fine with leggings instead of tights. I'm taking her to a consignment shop this weekend to pick up a few more. (I'm not about to buy her a whole new long-sleeved casual dress wardrobe with spring around the corner--she'd outgrow them by next fall.)

I want Charlotte to feel like she can express herself via what she chooses to wear, so I'm really trying to back off and pick my battles. As long as she can safely run around on a playground in a particular outfit, and it's seasonally appropriate, I let her wear it.

Then we have undies and socks. Some days, she wants princess undies. Some days, Christmas undies (no, really). Some days fairies, and some days Cinderella. But ONLY Cinderella, not Cinderella along with two other princesses. It's exhausting.

And socks? She has banned all white socks for the time being. As you can imagine, white socks are the most likely to work with any particular outfit. This means that it's not at all unusual for her to wear a pink and purple dress with neon orange socks.

Then there are the shoes. She has what we call her "church shoes," and these are shoes she can wear to church (or errands--but she thinks that's a special exception). They're dress shoes. The reasoning is simple: It is not safe for her to run around or climb playground equipment at school in patent leather shoes, so she may not wear them to school.

This morning, it was 5 degrees outside. FIVE degrees. And she made a plea to wear her saltwater sandals.

Finally, the child must have accessories. This involves no fewer than six sparkly hair clips, multiple necklaces, a bracelet or five, and maybe a ring. Again, an argument ensues, because she cannot wear that sort of stuff (except the hair clips) to school. School rules. Also, she needs a tutu. Always. ALWAYS. She sleeps, eats, colors, reads, watches TV, and plays in tutus. She managed to sneak one into school yesterday when I told her she could wear it only for the car ride. Chris, clueless about our agreement, didn't ask her to take it off at school, and Charlotte kept mum. She wore that tutu over her dress ALL DAY LONG. I don't know if there's a specific school ban on tutus at school, and I'm sort of afraid to ask.

As you can see, our daily lives have gotten slightly disrupted by this new phase.

Then there's the pretty aspect. Charlotte loves to accessorize in front of the mirror. At times, she'll sit pertly on her knees, spread her dress around her, and announce, "Mommy, this is how a princess sits." Fortunately, this is quickly followed by her getting more comfortable and saying, "Wait, no. Princesses sit criss-cross applesauce."

Often, all dolled up, Charlotte will bound into where I am and ask, "Mommy, do I look pretty?"

And I'll sigh and say for the hundredth time, "Sweetie, pretty is how you feel on the inside." She'll then either look at me blankly or look under her shirt to see how she looks "inside."

Chris and I are trying to refocus her attention on things like how strong she is, how fast she can run, how much progress she's making with her reading and writing, how funny she is. What a good, sweet sister she is. How helpful she is at a given time.

And you know, I was a girly girl who LOVED dresses and frills, so maybe it's genetic. But the pretty preoccupation is nagging at me a little. Did I let her watch Cinderella a few times too many? Is this my fault?

Or, is it just a phase? In the spirit of not freaking out, let me remind everyone that Charlotte is four. Her friends at school are four (or close). Each day, her little posse of BFFs puts on tutus (there's a dress-up corner in their classroom), belt out "Let It Go" from Frozen, and spin and dance. On Halloween, that girl posse comprised two Sofias, one Ariel, and one Tinker Bell (my girl was Tinker Bell). They feed off of one another. There's a make-believe element going on, and that's normal. In fact, I encourage it.

Also? For the second day in a row, Charlotte bypassed her Sofia and princess lunchboxes and opted for her Wonder Woman one. So there's that.

Why am I nervous? Because. The world sucks and it's cruel. What happens on the day she sees a standard of "pretty" and finds herself wanting? What happens on the day she doesn't see herself as the beautiful, sparkly, lively girl that her daddy and I see? That day will come, because it comes for every girl. And I want her to be fully equipped to look in the mirror, shrug, and think, "I'm smart and strong. Eff that pimple."

Is that too idealistic? Yeah. But what else can I do?