But if anyone could pull it off, he could
I'll understand when my son is a teenage alcoholic. With a Camaro. And dreadlocks. And a slutty girlfriend.
I won't be happy with the situation, but at least I'll know why he's that way. It will all be because of the outfit he wore to church yesterday.
Just to refresh your memory, Son is 17 months old. Son is a boy. Son is a climber and wiggler. Son is very strong. And when Son doesn't want to get dressed, he's not afraid to let it be known.
I laid him on the changing table and got him out of his pjs and took a moment to tickle his naked armpits. His laugh when his armpits are tickled is like a drug. So I took a hit, then kept on with the clothes change.
The outfit I pulled out of the closet was a long sleeve blue polo with some overalls that go, well, over it. We traded our best Ultimate Fighting Championship moves while I got the polo and overalls on. I did have to headbutt him once, but that was only after I blacked out from the chokehold he had on me.
By the time all that was done, I had very little physical stamina left. I looked and felt like I was coming out of Fight Club, which I would gladly elaborate on, except we all know the first rule of Fight Club. Anyhow, the only remaining clothing needed were socks and shoes.
I looked quickly for socks in the immediate 18-inch radius around us, and then my eyes caught a pair of crisp white socks on the ottoman. I broke apart the pair to find they had piping and ruffles at the top.
Girl socks.
Moment of hesitation.
Then girl socks went on Son's feet. The ruffles were way up under his knees, well covered by his pantlegs. Slapped the shoes on and off we went.
The variables I didn't plan for in my moment of poor judgment were the riding-upness of the pantlegs and the falling down-ness of the socks themselves. So by the time we picked the little dude up from the nursery, my secret was out.
I dressed my son, my only son, my beloved son, in girl socks. And everyone knew.
Somebody please put me in Daddy time-out.
I won't be happy with the situation, but at least I'll know why he's that way. It will all be because of the outfit he wore to church yesterday.
Just to refresh your memory, Son is 17 months old. Son is a boy. Son is a climber and wiggler. Son is very strong. And when Son doesn't want to get dressed, he's not afraid to let it be known.
I laid him on the changing table and got him out of his pjs and took a moment to tickle his naked armpits. His laugh when his armpits are tickled is like a drug. So I took a hit, then kept on with the clothes change.
The outfit I pulled out of the closet was a long sleeve blue polo with some overalls that go, well, over it. We traded our best Ultimate Fighting Championship moves while I got the polo and overalls on. I did have to headbutt him once, but that was only after I blacked out from the chokehold he had on me.
By the time all that was done, I had very little physical stamina left. I looked and felt like I was coming out of Fight Club, which I would gladly elaborate on, except we all know the first rule of Fight Club. Anyhow, the only remaining clothing needed were socks and shoes.
I looked quickly for socks in the immediate 18-inch radius around us, and then my eyes caught a pair of crisp white socks on the ottoman. I broke apart the pair to find they had piping and ruffles at the top.
Girl socks.
Moment of hesitation.
Then girl socks went on Son's feet. The ruffles were way up under his knees, well covered by his pantlegs. Slapped the shoes on and off we went.
The variables I didn't plan for in my moment of poor judgment were the riding-upness of the pantlegs and the falling down-ness of the socks themselves. So by the time we picked the little dude up from the nursery, my secret was out.
I dressed my son, my only son, my beloved son, in girl socks. And everyone knew.
Somebody please put me in Daddy time-out.
posted by Leighton aka MyBestInvest at
6:51 PM
4 Comments:
Maybe next week should be a ladder match. Girl socks on one ladder, boy socks on the other. The guy who whips the other climbs a ladder and picks a pair of socks.
The battle ain't over til the socks are on, so watch out for flying laders...
Oh my freaking word.
Taking a hit of the armpit giggle drug - the first rule of fight club - girly socks.
I am laughing my head off. Oh man. Way, way too funny.
Good stuff, man.
Entirely too funny!
I can just imagine the tauntings he got from the other toddlers in the nursery. I hope he's not scarred for life! LOL!
My MIL once put ribbons in my BIL's hair because she really wanted a daughter! LOL! As far as we know, he turned out fine.
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