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Mr. Candy’s Go-To Dress

Candy's Column

Mr. Candy’s Go-To Dress

The reason Miss Skye looks so put out…?  Well, I refuse to believe it’s because I mercilessly follow her around with the camera stuck in her face — Smile!  No, SMILE!  C’mon!  Look up here, over here, down here! Sit up.  Lie down. Hey.  WHY ARE YOU CRAWLING AWAY FROM ME? — so it MUST be due to her choice of attire.  She’s all, THIS thing again? You see, when Mr. Candy dresses her, which is most every weekend, he always puts her in that dress.  Always.  For months now, that dress and that dress only.  Dress is in the hamper?  No problem.  A spittle rub, and good as new.  Actually it’s not so much a dress on her anymore, but more of a tunic.  Okay, not so much a tunic, really, but more of a belly shirt.  A tight belly shirt that should be retired to the “CLOTHES THAT ARE TOO DARN CUTE TO GIVE AWAY/THAT MR. CANDY SECRETLY HOPES WE’RE KEEPING AROUND FOR BABY #2” box in our storage shed.

My point being, and it’s a subtle one, that the “dress” is too small for Skye.  Not to mention we have four quadrillion other, equally cute outfits that actually, you know, cover her behind.  But I’m afraid that if I did banish this outfit to the shed, then Mr. Candy would freak out and Skye would end up wearing just a diaper and socks on our daily walk around town.  Not that she couldn’t rock the diaper-and-socks look, mind you, but I believe that ensemble is best worn only behind closed doors.  At a particularly raucous frat party beer pong tournament.

Not that I’d know anything about THAT.  *Ahem*

As for Mr. Candy’s baby dressing-phobia… it’s all my fault.

There was a time when Mr. Candy was able to have fun picking out outfits for our daughter.  Oh yes, yes, there was.  He would kindly take her from me after our marathon morning feeding session, so I could get some much-needed sleep and he could get some much-needed bonding time with the baby.  I could hear them laughing in Skye’s bedroom, and my heart would fill with love.

What a wonderful family I have, I would think contentedly.  THIS is all that really matters in life.

And then Mr. Candy would pop into the bedroom carrying Skye.

“Have a good nap!  We’re going downstairs –”

“DEAR GOD, WHAT IS OUR DAUGHTER WEARING?”

Plaid paired with stripes, black with brown, t-shirts with tights, skirts worn as hats… you name it, Mr. Candy has dressed Skye in it.  Making matters even worse, he would try SO HARD to dress her in something he thought I’d like.  His effort was adorable, if not the outfit.  So I truly hated to say anything.  I’ve bitten my tongue so many times, that all I have left is scar tissue.  What did it matter, anyway?  Babies look cute in anything!  And it’s not like Skye gives a flying you-know-what.  Right?  But… it does matter for some reason.  It matters to me.  Which is why oftentimes I would jump out of bed and snatch Skye out of his arms.

“Here, you’ve done enough.  Why don’t you get yourself some breakfast?”

“But I thought you wanted to sleep…”

“Oh, I’m good.  Almost TOO WELL-RESTED!” I’d laugh assuredly, the bags under my eyes belying my little scheme.

“If you say so…” Mr. Candy would say, unconvinced, to the crazy lady smiling too widely and clutching the baby too tightly as he left the room.

Skye and I would wait until we heard ESPN blaring from the downstairs TV — then dash over to her room, throw off her skirt-hat, and outfit her in a PROPER ensemble.  Because heaven forbid the Starbucks Barista should see her wearing plaid with florals!

THANK YOU, Skye’s eyes said to me.  Yes!  I’m fluent in Baby Eyes!

As we’d nonchalantly walk downstairs:

“Those are… different pants?” Mr. Candy would ask, disheartened.

Damn.  Busted.

“Yeah.  She spit up on the pants you put on her.  Darn it!  And they were so cute –”

“They didn’t match.”

“Not even a little.”

We went through this scenario, oh, eleven-hundred weekends in a row until Mr. Candy finally got it right with the above dress one miraculous Saturday.  Right dress, right tights.  I DIDN’T CHANGE A THING.  Buoyed by his rare baby style success, neither did Mr. Candy.  Ever.  Even though I purposely paired outfits together for him in her dresser drawer and promised to be more open-minded about his selections.  It didn’t matter.  That dress became his go-to outfit.  He was AFRAID to change anything.

And remains so to this day.  Poor guy.

If only I could wield the same power with the TV:  “E! News?  Perfect.  DON’T CHANGE A THING.”

Because sharing is caring, as I tell my kids. (Except my wine. Never my wine.)
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Candy Kirby is the founder of The Laughing Stork and a professional fun-maker who will never stop chasing her lifelong dream: to find the Pomeranian or porn star after whom her parents must have named her. A humor columnist for Disney, Nickelodeon, Scary Mommy, Reductress and Redbook, she also used to be a staff writer for the soap opera, The Bold and the Beautiful, where she penned many scripts featuring prolonged heated stares and countless “Who’s the Daddy?” story lines. Candy lives in Los Angeles with her husband, two young kids and three rescue Persian cats, the latter of whom are the real brains behind this operation (so send all complaints to them).

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