My Genius, Your Child's Onesie

Before Animal was born I didn't think much about baby clothes. To me they were like a uniform — like something an auxiliary police officer might wear. Pinks, blues, ducks, pastel yellows. Stuff like that.

Before Animal was born we got more clothes than we could possibly use for him. A friend gave us four giant bags of clothes. We probably got four more bags of clothes as gifts.

I assumed we would dress Monkey in a sensible smock or something, but then we got all this stuff, so of course I feel like we should use it. A lot of it is wonderful. Some of it less so.

Sometimes, for example, clothes just outright lie. Case in point, Squeak has these baby mittens — cutest things in the world! — that loudly proclaim, "I Love Kisses." This monkey may love a lot of things — being swaddled, dirtying diapers, tits — but kisses are not one of them. I should know — I've tried. Every day I try to give him a big smooch but he either sits there unmoved (a good day) or actively recoils (most days). So the gall of these mitten-makers who presume to know what he likes. It's confusing, if not thoughtless.

Another item in Squeak's collection is a one-size duck-decorated fleece thing with a tag saying "Squeeze Me." Come on, isn't that a little presumptuous? And again, he may like a lot of things — flopping on your chest after eating, waiting to urinate until we've put a fresh diaper on him, a nice rack — but "squeezing" certainly doesn't seem to be one of them.

Then there's the "Mommy Loves Me" tag. Don't get Jen started on that.

Of course, when they're not cloy-saccharine sweet they're just inscrutable. For example, here's one I don't understand: a Pink Elephant onesie. Pink elephants? Isn't that like . . . ? Why yes it is.

Then there other items that read like bumper stickers. Jen keeps showing me websites selling onesies with quips printed on them about poop or tit. Apparel with the logos of bands popular in the eyes of aging Gen Xers. Shirts with ironic tags like "Boob Man":

"I Am Boob Man," East 61st Street, Manhattan

The thing is that while the cloying stuff might tire you out, it's absurd to pin ironic slogans on a newborn's chest — after all, this is a creature whose brain is sufficiently underdeveloped such that his head can squeeze out of a human pelvis. And all you can think about is a sardonic quip? How can you do that to such an innocent angel?

I'd say that we should go back to my smock idea but then I realize how many pictures we're taking of him and I realize that this is basically like being followed by TMZ all day — and the baby has to be looking good all the time.

Honestly, I guess being a baby is a tough gig. No wonder they can be so prickly.

Posted: February 7th, 2012 | Author: | Filed under: The Cult Of Domesticity | Tags: , ,

Leave a Reply

You must be logged in to post a comment.