One day, when you're older, you might perhaps look at photos of yourself at age 2.5(ish) and wonder why on earth I let you out of the house wearing the same outfit for days on end. Or why I let you out of the house wearing pajamas. Repeatedly. Or you might wonder why I never did anything fun with your hair.
Well. LET ME TELL YOU. You are very headstrong. And stubborn. Now, you would think that I, as a 34-year-old woman, would be able to exert my will upon you, a 2-year-old. You would be wrong. I mean, I suppose I COULD but it frankly is not worth the effort. I have to choose my battles. I would rather you brush your teeth than your hair. I would rather you wear something than nothing. I would rather you not scream for 10 minutes while flailing on the floor because I told you that you needed a ponytail. (Yeah. That happened.) I have oftentimes threatened to cut your hair off and get you the same haircut as Patrick. You see this as the empty threat that it is and tell me that you will brush your hair BY YOURSELF. Then you get the brush stuck in your hair. Lately, you have let me brush your hair and put it in Elsa or Anna braids. This is only because your other option is a ponytail or pigtails which you hate. As you do barrettes. And headbands.
Are you sensing a theme? I am not exagerrating.
So far, the worst offenders have been the gray boots and the red pants. They gray boots started off well. They were half off at Old Navy, little knock-off Uggs with tiny cutout stars. Super cute. And you loved them, and I loved them and it was winter and your feet were warm and all was right with the world. There was just one problem. You ... did not like to wear socks with your boots. At first, this was not a problem. Until you did it enough that one day you kicked off your boots in the car and everyone dived for the buttons to roll down their windows. It was bad. I washed them. That helped for about two days. I washed them again and made you wear socks. That got a week. Finally I decided enough was enough. You loved the boots and would wear them every day but ... it was bad. So I threw them away. AND YOU FOUND THEM, AND PULLED THEM OUT OF THE TRASH. After another week, I got smarter and threw them out on trash day. Success!
The issue with the red pants was a different one. You wanted to wear them every day. With every thing. That didn't match. They were red fleecy pants which were perfectly serviceable but which did not look cute under dresses. This did not deter you. I could not in good conscience tell you not to wear them, I mean, that would have been reinforcing gender roles or something -- who cares if they're cute -- but it drove me crazy. CRAZY. You even tried to wear them to your Easter pictures. This finally was solved when the weather got warmer.
But you still didn't brush your hair.
So that, Audrey, is why you look like a little ragamuffin in pictures. IT IS NOT MY FAULT.