Holy Crap, We're Having a Baby: Mothers, Daughters and Other People's Daughters

The day my mother realized I was never going to embrace shopping as my one true savior, she died a little on the inside. It is also the day she began praying to the Lord of Sparkly Dresses, Designer Labels and Great Deals to grant her a granddaughter who would make up for her own daughter's tragic flaw.

The Bean will turn one year old next month and I have an amazing fact to share with you: Humans are born with nearly 300 bones in their body, but only have 206 bones by the time they reach adulthood. Also, I have only purchased one item of clothing for my child. Ever. And she has not even worn it yet.

Nana has been busy.

When I first informed my mother I was pregnant with a baby girl, she showed up with enough clothes to outfit The Bean for the first few hundred years of life. This was great; especially since, at the time, I was blowing extreme amounts of money on supporting my ice cream habit.

Every few weeks since The Bean's arrival onto this planet, I end up shouting, "Holy crap kid, quit this growing business! You're going to force me to go shopping because we're out of clothes you fit into. And if I have to go shopping, I promise I will torture you with a closet full of corduroy pants when you hit middle school."

Lucky for The Bean, Nana's superpower is sensing when a fashion catastrophe is imminent. Within the next day or two a new shipment of clothes comes in; keeping The Bean baby chic and me from having a mall meltdown. Win-win-win.

Recently, my mother asked me how The Bean was enjoying her newest shipment of fashionable frocks she lovingly picked out piece by trendsetting piece.

Crap.

My daughter inherited two things from me. An inappropriate love of pickles and a complete lack of interest in sparkles, ruffles, glitter or Ralph Lauren.

Pretty sure Nana was envisioning this.

The reality is, every time a new box of clothes from Nana arrives, The Bean looks inside and then crawls off to make raspberry noises as loudly as possible, preferably while banging on metal objects. Meanwhile the nanny's daughter lovingly pulls out each item, examines its craftsmanship and beauty then struts around the house with her favorite pieces as if she was working the runway in Milan - glancing down at us proletarians and style simpletons.

I did what any daughter would do. I told my mother the horrible truth - that her granddaughter was also fashion-backward. Because daughters like nothing more than getting under the skin of their mothers; even when the child is 34. (And yes, I realize I will be getting my just desserts someday soon; that's the joy of it all.)

Last week's fashion delivery consisted of two matching shirts (in different colors). As Nana put it, "One for The Bean and one for The Fashionista." A truly lovely gift for the girls, but mothers always have the last laugh. Nana's one request: send me a picture of the girls in their shirts.

Do you know what's impossible? Getting two toddlers to sit still at the same time for a photograph.

Here is our photograph(s):