After watching Westley's belly peek out under his shirt hems for a couple of weeks, I finally got around to buying some new-to-him clothes today. I always suffer through some mental gymnastics when baby-clothes shopping, especially if I'm at Goodwill, where baby clothes are sorted into "Boys" and "Girls" and then by style ("long-sleeve tops," "short-sleeve tops," "pants," "shorts," and so on), instead of by size.
I scroll through the rack of clothes, guessing, remembering: How big is he now? That looks right. (Check the tag.) Yes, that'll work. (Put it in the cart.) Aww, I can't believe how little this thing is! Newborn size. He was exactly that size when he was just born. He's huge now. Oh, there, that's his size. Wait, no--not any more. I can't believe how big he's gotten...
I lucked out today, and there was a lot of good stuff in Westley's ever-increasing size. Sadly, he has graduated from clothes with date ranges and M's on their tags to clothes with single digits followed by a T. I thought about some 18-24 M clothes for a while (he's only 17 months old, after all), but thought again when I remembered that Westley has been eating whole bananas by himself and taking three-hour naps these past few days. In short, he's growing like a weed. A long-torso'd weed whose belly hangs out under his 18M-sized t-shirts. And while 18-24 M tops would probably fit him, why not go for broke and start him on the 2Ts.
2T or not 2T, that is the question.
In the end, I bought a couple pairs of 2T jeans, some 2T shirts, and a pair of barely-worn pajamas and a hoodie in a size (gulp) 3T. And another bit of his baby-ness bites the dust. A moment of silence for the "M" clothes, please. Westley's wardrobe is now marked "toddler" with a capital "T."
