"Oh, wait till you see what I got!" I exclaim to my husband as I walk in the door from my baby shower. Diving into the nest of tissue paper and pastel gift bags, I show him my favorite new possession: the sweetest, smallest, most adorable, soft, white, cable-knit cotton cardigan. With teeny mother-of-pearl buttons. And a matching cap.
At least, it's my favorite until I remember the hooded terry after-bath sack with the satin duckling applique. The size-zero purple tennis shoes. The impossibly miniature reversible jacket. Stretchy one-piece jumpers, barely bigger than my hand. I stroke each item and coo.
But my husband is not enjoying a parallel reverie. "The baby will grow out of that stuff in about a week," he mutters. "Didn't you get anything besides clothes?"
Moms and dads differ about many things: their play styles, their ability to hear middle-of-the-night hunger cries, their talent for sniffing out (and taking action on) a stinky diaper. But a less-talked-about parental divide concerns baby clothes. It's one of my favorite parts of motherhood — going shopping for wee duds, selecting the morning's coordinates. I don't even mind washing all those dresses or sorting the thumb-size pastel tube socks. I'm a sucker for smocking. I'm not even sorry when favorite outfits are outgrown — it's a welcome excuse to prowl the mall for replacements. My husband, on the other hand, wants to know why we don't just snip baby-size armholes in old T-shirts. And he's perfectly serious.
Why are so many dads incapable of navigating a snap-crotch pajama without coming up short? Maybe it starts in childhood, when girls get more experience wrestling tiny duds onto the unyielding bodies of dolls. I used to spend hours putting gowns and bibs on a plastic drink-and-wet baby who had a hole in her mouth and another in her bottom. I'm well versed in maneuvering buttons the size of birth-control pills into thin slivers of buttonholes.
Then, too, new moms are uniquely, physically primed by childbirth to be interested in baby clothes. The last thing we're in the mood for, thanks to our milk-swelled breasts and mushy midriffs, is to squeeze our own bodies into a fitting room. And yet, with this beautiful newborn, we're hankering for things that are fresh and new. So we channel our shopping zeal into our babies.
There's also a practical reason for having tons of baby clothes. Infants go through a lot of costume changes over the course of a day. What parent has time to run the washing machine after every burp, spill or diaper leak? That's why you need to lay in a big layette.
A couple of years ago, the New York Times offered a shallower explanation for women's obsession with baby fashions, in an article titled "Dressing Up Mini-Me." It blamed rivalry and narcissism run amok and showcased society babes in nothing less than Gucci booties and DKNY cashmere sweaters. I don't quite so ostentatiously see my baby as an extension of myself. (At least, neither of us wears Gucci.) Nor do I care what Princess Marie-Chantal of Greece, let alone the other moms in our playgroup, dress their dumplings in. But given all the choices at our disposal today, babies do express their mother's style, at any price point. Are you into pint-size capris with zebra stripes or denim coveralls with teddy bears? Pastels or primaries? Funny slogans ("Got milk?") or serous classics?
Moms care. Dads don't.
Oh, I know there are a few male clotheshorses out there. But even the guys who really do read GQ for the fashion advice don't tend to share their sartorial obsession with their little ones, beyond the occasional tiny-T emblazoned with a favorite school or sports logo.
I've never seen a dad sighing over the seersucker bubble suits at my local children's shop. You expect a guy to ogle the Victoria's Secret catalog, but how many glance twice at Hanna Andersson? And in my case, thank goodness. After all, who wants a man who cares more about his own wardrobe than I do about mine? And who wants someone else beating me to the nursery to package my bundle of joy?
© The Parenting Group