This weekend while at the mall we stopped at the Gymboree store because the BoyChild desperately needs new clothes. Winter is coming and he mostly wears those body suits that babies wear so much; snap at the shoulder and the crotch.

When the GirlChild was a baby, I could go into Gymboree and have a grand old time. They had 100 percent cotton clothes, in bright, fun colors. I got her tights, and shorts and capri pants, and dresses and shirts and matching shoes and socks; she was the best dressed toddler on the playground. The clothes were, oh, so cute and comfy and just generally fun.

Boy clothes, on the other hand are…well…just plain boring.

There are the obligatory overalls. The BoyChild has a few pair of those but he’s not really built right to wear them. He’s chunky around the middle, has a long body with a baby belly, a diaper laden bottom, short stubby legs and huge feet.

There are jeans. We have a pair of them. And I’ll admit he looks cute in them. But they have the same sort of problem the overalls have. If they are big enough around his waist, then they are way too long. And getting denim jeans off a squirming 17 month old with a dirty diaper isn’t my idea of a fun time.

When we learned about the BoyChild we had so little time to think beyond, “a baby.” The phone rang about 11:00 p.m. on Thursday night. The DearHusband’s cousin was on the other end of the line and said, “do you still want to adopt a baby?”

The next Tuesday the GirlChild, the DearHusband and the GranMa were on a plane to Tennessee to await the birth of the baby that was to become the BoyChild. I was scheduled to fly out on Friday, or earlier if necessary. They wanted someone there in the event the BoyChild’s BirthMother went into labor but planned to induce on Friday if she didn’t. Wednesday morning, less than a week after they first called us, the BoyChild was born about 6:00 a.m.

The DearHusband called and woke me up with the news the BirthMother had gone into labor and was at the hospital. The Baba and GranMa worked on getting me airline reservations. When the DearHusband called and told me the BoyChild had been born, I was stunned. We’d talked about a baby, but not necessarily the sex. We’d dealt with a GirlChild and thought, for some reason, that another GirlChild would be what was coming.

I didn’t know what to do with a boy. They had all these weird and different body parts. They were rough and tumble. They seemed like so much work.

When I arrived at the hospital that afternoon I was in for another shock. The BoyChild was P.U.R.P.L.E. Apparently he’d come so fast (they said it was less than 2 hours from the time his BirthMother went into labor until he was born)that his face looked bruised. And he was cranky. And don’t even get me started about the circumcision.

But he had the most beautiful blue eyes. And he had the most beautiful smile. And he was only cranky for a few days. And he ate and slept good. And within a day or two, I began to like him. And within a week or two I couldn’t imagine our life without him.

And while now I can’t begin to imagine what I would do without the BoyChild, I often despair about what I’ll dress him in.

On my last foray into Gymboree I left with a blue and yellow stripped rugby type tee shirt, a pair of black sweat pants and a pair of blue sweat pants. He already has a BoyChild sized sweat shirt and red sweat pants. He only has one pair of shoes. His little feet are so wide we have to buy the expensive kids shoes that cost more than mine do.

Part of my problem is the GirlChild’s clothes aren’t much fun anymore. She’s got her own sense of style. I sometimes think she’s part crow.
If it’s shiny or glittery or tacky it’s what she wants.

I guess I’ll just have to learn to be contented with wide white baby tennis shoes, sweat pants and tee shirts because I think it’s probably all downhill from here.