Dressed to Depress

It was the last question I wanted to hear as I wiped the sleep from my eyes on Thursday morning. The 10 words hung in the air, taunting me, laughing at me. The question mark chuckled, too.

"Is your Daddy going to pick out your outfit today?"

Oh, no. God, no. Please, no.

Bridget was talking to Annabelle about the day ahead and asked the question just loud enough so I could hear it. Unmercifully, she continued:

"It's always exciting to see what he's going to choose. Is he going to go with something girly? Something a little more unisex? Oh, boy. Let's see."

I'll kill the suspense immediately. It's going to be a disaster.

As you can see from the enormous pink pants in the image above, I'm not what you would call "good" at dressing Annabelle. In fact, I'd say I'm downright awful at it. Like "dumpster fire" awful. But you know what? It's not my fault. And there are two main reasons:

Reason No. 1: As a male who grew up wearing white T-shirts and warm-up pants to high school, I'm not very stylish. If you're a female and you're reading this, raise your hand if you'd let me choose your outfits for a week. Obviously, you're all sitting on your hands now. And, honestly, why would you let me? I'd just pick sweatpants and T-shirts. If I tried to pick something nice, it almost certainly wouldn't match. And, without a doubt, it would be way too big or way too small.

Frankly, ladies, there are too many damn options. Too many colors. Too many combinations. Too many possibilities. That's why, like most guys, I wear grays, blues, and browns. Muted colors keep me safe!

Annabelle, of course, can't spend her life in muted colors. I try to match different shades of pink. I throw in an occasional purple or yellow. Sometimes I even use lace. It never really works out.

Reason No. 2: It's incredibly complicated to dress a baby. Do we really need these clothes to be so complex? There are zippers, snaps, buttons, clasps, and hinges. (Seriously, hinges!) It's ridiculous.

Every morning I dress Annabelle, I cross my fingers that this won't be the time her head gets stuck. Like most babies, she has a big head and she doesn't particularly like getting it stuffed through a tiny cotton hole. And she hates socks -- absolutely hates them. Why? I have no idea. But she lets out a loud cry every time I go to stuff her little feet into tiny socks. She almost always kicks the first one off as I'm putting on the second one, which is especially frustrating.

Bridget, meanwhile, doesn't help anything by picking the most intricate, perplexing outfits she can find. She always adds a little flair -- a headband, an undershirt, or sparkly shoes -- that result in pain and anguish for both me and Annabelle.

I'd imagine I'll get better at the dressing thing as time goes on. I mean, I have to, right? Then again, I still wear warm-up pants.