Flexible rigidity

When I was a first-time mom, my baby went nowhere without curls and a bow. I painstakingly rolled her thick, beautiful hair every night in those little pink sponge rollers, no matter how late the night or how grumpy the mother or child. She had those curls until she was in third grade when she forbade me to come near unless it was a special occasion or I could sneak them on her as she slept (which I tried.)

Baby girl #2 came along and I bought more sponge rollers. The problem was her hair was much thinner so I adjusted my hair repertoire to include soft curls, often in a relaxed pony tail. Again, she went nowhere without the matching bow, plus I added fluffy, poofy socks to as many outfits as I could as well as bow-encrusted shoe strings. If it moved, I stuck a bow to it. I was a woman possessed.

Baby girl #3 was born while I was working full time and in graduate school full time and, believe me, I was worried about how I would have time to curl a third head of hair every night. But God blessed me with a little one with her own sweet curls, easing my mind and my workload. Matching bows morphed into matching outfits for three little ladies who looked completely adorable when we left our home.

Baby boy #1 arrived and I wasn't sure how to accessorize since my pink sponge rollers and bows were no longer appropriate. I decided to move to hats. This little one did not leave the house without an outfit complete with a matching cap. He wore them everywhere, day or night, and has only recently stopped wearing them because the school frowns on their presence. Weekends, however, are fair game.

But little boy #2 joined us with his own set of rules. He wore the caps for a while, obliging me my OCD tendencies, then moved on to other more Landon-like accessories. We've had to endure many ensemble additions like capes and robes, goggles and boots, ponytail holder bracelets and girls' panties head gear; all of which we were able to enjoy in the privacy of our own home.

However, little boy #2 has decided that no outing is to be made without his latest obsession...his bicycle helmet. You can tell that I have mellowed in my old age because I'll go with him to Chik-Fil-A or the grocery store or whereever we're headed with that darned thing on his head. In all honestly I have tried to talk him out of wearing it but Daddy comes to his rescue every time, reassuring me that all is okay and that my value as a mother is not reduced because my child is wearing a bicycle helmet in a restaurant.

So I've given up. I'll take him with the helmet, I'll even take him with the Bible Man cape or the swim goggles. I do draw the line at britches and require him to put something on his legs before we leave the house, but I am too tired and hormonal to fight for much else.

See what I mean:




















So at seven months pregnant with baby girl #4, child #6, you would think I could sit back and prepare to enjoy the prospect of freedom from the obsessive my-child-must-look-perfect mentality I have held for so long. I'm going to try...I really will...but with ten baby bows already purchased and about that many froo-frooey hats, the future is looking pretty frilly. And I couldn't be more excited.