Gloating. Boasting. We all do it, especially when it comes to our kids. I'll readily admit that when Abby finally got out of preemie clothes and into newborn clothes the whole world knew about it. It was such an accomplishment. It meant she was growing. Thriving. And dawgoneitall, everyone was going to know that she was gaining weight!
I have a bin in the bedroom with too-small clothes in it and another bin with too-big clothes. It seems like there is a constant rotation of putting clothes back into the small-clothes bin and taking clothes out from the big-clothes bin. I love it. Always something new. Fresh.
The other day I pulled a pair of brown pants out from of the big-clothes bin and checked the size. 6-12 months. Say what!?! 6-12 months? Who are they kidding. A 6 month baby is no where near the size of a 12 month behemoth. Are baby clothes makers trying to make the babe feel better by saying 6-12 months? I should try that. Next time I go pants shopping I'm going to tell the over-helpful, hovering retail lady that I'd like a size 2-8. That should cover all my bases and make me feel much better, in my post-baby-body-that-is-nothing-like-it-used-to-be size.
So anyway, I put on the size 6-12 month pants, and aside from not being able to see my dear daughter's feet she looked adorable in them, as I knew she would. They did give the impression that she had much longer legs, though. Score!