My Haunting Past

For as long as I can remember, my mom never bought me clothes. Not for my birthday. Not as a Christmas gift. Not before school started. She had to wait until I was with her, because chances were, if she bought something without me, I'd hate it. Being picky about my clothes doesn't even begin to describe me in my youth. Admittedly, I was a huge pain.

I went through a phase of not wearing tank tops because I was self conscious about having chicken pox scars on my shoulders (which nobody ever noticed but me). I remember safety pinning my shirts to the inside of my shorts to make it look like I was wearing a body suit (how embarrassing). And I probably wore overalls every other day for about four years straight. I can imagine my mom cringed everytime she saw me in those awful, baggy overalls.

I can still remember the torture of going back to school shopping when I was young and walking into the Mervyn's juniors department for the first time. The clothes there were way cooler than in the girls section. I thumbed through a bunch of size 1 and 3 clothes, only to realize they were all too big. I was probably 13 and I was too thin to fit the clothes in the juniors department. I remember making that agonizing walk to the other side of Mervyn's and being forced to look through shirts that were attached to skorts and other awful girl choices. It was embarrassing. I was too old for that stuff, but yet, it was all that fit.

I think that's why I stuck to the overalls. Nobody had to know how skinny I was under all that denim. But my own self consciousness, is not really the point of this post.

The point is, my past is coming back to bite me in the butt in the form of a daughter named Gabriella.

She is me in disguise. And I'm getting paid back all those years of battling with my mom over clothes. Big time.

This girl hurries to her closet every morning to get herself dressed. It's always one of two leggings. One of two dresses or one particular skirt. She hates to wear pants and refuses to wear some of the cutest shirts because of the "puff sleeves" or some other ridiculous observation she made about them. I see the same clothes on her little body day after day. And I want to burn them.

Today she came skipping into my room after getting herself dressed with a knowing look. A look that said, "I know you hate this pink corduroy dress and blue polka dot leggings I wear every other day, but I got myself dressed, so you must be proud of me, right?"

I was not proud.

I want the washing machine to eat that outfit. It's horrible.

I walked with her back to her closet and pulled open her drawer. For a good fifteen minutes I tried negotiating with her to wear something else. Me. Negotiating with a five year old. Over clothes. I had reached a new parenting low.

I said she could pick out a shirt then I would pick out the pants. She wanted a skirt. So I finally told her she could wear her favorite skirt if she wore the shirt I picked out. She agreed. She then proceeded to follow me around the house with her skirt on, and holding the totally adorable shirt I picked out, crying about not wanting to wear it. This went on and on. She was stubborn and persistent about it. I got flash backs to doing the same thing to Bryn. I would follow her around the house begging her to let me wear her shoes, or the shirt she was planning on wearing. I have a good sister, because most the time I got my way. Thanks Bryn.

But with the roles reversed, and Gabs following me around, I was losing my mind. Finally, with about ten minutes before her school ride was to be here, and still needing to eat lunch, I told her to pick out whatever she wanted. I didn't care. She stood there dumbfounded that I would suggest such an idea. Then bolted to her room, so excited.

She emerged in this little number with a grin from ear to ear.

I can not imagine giving up full control over her wardrobe choices at the tender age of five, but I suppose I can let the girl pick out her own outfits from time to time. Look how happy she is. It's not the end of the world if she is wearing two contrasting shades of pink, navy blue and black, and a short sleeved sweater over a long sleeve shirt. I'm sure this is only the beginning of my battles with girls and clothes. I probably deserve it.

And mom, I am so, so, so, so, sorry.