The first few months of having a baby is akin to your first few months of college. You really learn a lot about yourself and what you can handle.
You find out how much sleep you need to function. The results of each test prepares you for the next hurdle. You learn how much you can drink and still take care of yourself (or, in this case, your child).
You also found out that drinking and dialing do not mix.
Well, drinking and shopping don’t mix, either.
After a mimosa brunch with my sister and her husband, we went for a walk around San Francisco. The problem with that was that around every corner in the Marina district there were clothing stores. And the problem with niche clothing stores in a fashionable city is that baby clothes look oh so cute!
And they’re even cuter with a few mimosas swimming in your head.
My daughter was the recipient of an aunt and uncle shopping spree and it’s not as if the wife and I weren’t partaking in making sure our little one had the coolest threads of her peers (of which she has none. Her social calendar is unequivocally tied to ours. And I digress.).
This was also the first time I had gone clothes shopping for my daughter and damned if I wasn’t excited when I saw something she absolutely needed to be dressed in:
A blue-hued mustache-covered onesie. With the feet.
I proudly held it up to my wife.
Um, that’s for boys.
No it’s not. It’s unisex.
It’s for boys. Not for our daughter.
Ah, c’mon. She can have a mustache shirt like dad’s.
That was the mimosas trying to make a decision. It was a good thing I wasn’t shopping solo after a few breakfast head-straighteners or else my kid would be wearing a blue onesie with handlebar mustaches all over it.
At another store there was a purple sweatshirt that had, in big, green letters across the front, the word DUDE. That was it.
I loved it. If it wasn’t $40 I would have bought it on the spot. I use “dude” like a Tarantino film uses “fuck” (although I use that one a lot, too). I call my wife dude. I’ve called my daughter dude. My dad is dude. My mom sometimes too.
So there I was having an internal debate about whether my daughter should have a sweatshirt with DUDE across the chest.
Hey, it’s purple. That’s good. It’s kind of girly. It’s not blue. But it says “dude.” Dude is a male thing. That’s OK I call a lot of people “dude.” It’s cute, I’m going to get it.
I held the sweatshirt in my hands and walked back to another section of the store.
Hey, honey, what do you have there?
I held it up, a huge smile on my face. This time I didn’t get the wife death stare. I got the shoulder shrug in the same fashion she had when I wanted to get my daughter a Dodgers onesie. Translation: she wasn’t in love with it but if I really wanted it, I could buy it if it fit into our budget.
Well, if you *really* want it.
Translation: it’s too expensive for something not everyone is on board with.
While the mimosas had affected my clothing judgment it only opened my wife and my sister’s wallets. They outfitted my kid with dresses, a trench coat for those frigid Southern California winters, a hoodie, some jeans and probably a whole lot of other things I haven’t even uncovered in the closet and drawers yet.
Their version of drinking and dialing – or drinking and buying – was to make our kid the best dressed. My version was just to grab things I thought were cool.
Which is why I learned that 3 am drunken phone calls were not appreciated even though I thought they were a great idea. Now I’ve learned that drinking and shopping should never be done by me.
Although I do want to send my wife and sister to the bar every few months if only for my daughter’s wardrobe.