Why 8 month old boys should not go dress shopping

Yesterday, I decided that we'd been locked up in this house too long, so off we went to the Dulles mall. Now this was probably not the most brilliant idea that I have ever had considering that Chase is still a well-oiled snot factory with his latest product of snot bubbles currently in mass production. But then again, you really shouldn't be surprised by my choices, no one ever said that I was the brightest bulb in the box.

We get to the mall where I begin to check things off of my "must do" list.

1. Spend Gymboree bucks. Check
2. Buy extra long tanks from Old Navy before the only color choices left are lime
and fuchsia. Check
3. Purchase pajamas for Chase in bigger size. Ignore warning label about needing snug fit or baby goes up in flames. Check

I was feeling pretty good about having accomplished these three goals with only minor fussing and the sacrifice of just 2 paper towels to phlegm clean up. So, I thought to myself, "Self, you need to find a formal dress to wear to Vegas for your Arbonne Awards celebration. Remember, you are going to be walking across stage in front of thousands of adoring fans, so you must look presentable. Now would be the perfect time to try to find said dress."

So naively, I head to Macy's thinking that not only would I find a magnificent frock, but the process would go smoothly. Ha, Ha, double Ha. First, I must find the formal dress section of the store which of course is in the opposite direction of the way that I set out. Then I have to navigate Chase's stroller around the racks of clothes that are too close to one another while looking at one hideous garment after another. Formal does not mean that you need your entire top half covered in sequins and sparkles people. Also, 60 year old women who go on cruises is not your only market for a formal dress...wait it just occurs to me that it is prom season. I should have hit the juniors section...oh wait, I wouldn't fit in any of those dresses. Aack!

Finally, at the very end of the formal area, I spy a simple, red, halter dress that would be perfect--if it fits. So, I gamely head into the dressing area where--surprise, surprise--every dressing room is piled high with unwanted clothes because nearly everyone is too lazy to put her cast offs on the rack RIGHT OUTSIDE THE DOOR. After plowing a path, I attempt to push the stroller into the dressing room, and by room, I mean teeny, tiny closet. The stroller barely squeezes through the door, and once inside it takes up 92% of the floor space--and it's my little stroller! Imagine if I had the humungo Graeco with me?? Am I the only mother who needs to try on clothes with a little one in tow? I think not--listen up Mr. Macy--build bigger dressing rooms.

Picture this: I'm trying to wiggle out of my clothes and into a gown in exactly 10 square inches of space and young Master Chase is getting cranky.

Me: There, there Mommy just needs to pull her shoes off. Ouch. Shoe hits mom in head I need to try on this pretty dress to see if I can wear it to Vegas. Pants land on Chase's feet.
Chase: Waaaahh Gaa DaDa (translation: get me out of here crazy lady)

Me: Ummpfh Just let me....get....dress...on...where's the dang neck of this stupid dress? What am I supposed to do with this sash? Why are the straps so loose?? Looks a little big doesn't it? Guess it's not going to work for Mommy is it?

Chase: Waahhh Waaahhh Wahh DaDaDaDa (translation: you look ridiculous, where is my dad?)

Me: Ok, just let mommy get dressed again. Where is my other shoe?? Begins frantically throwing unwanted clothes around looking for shoe. Finds it behind stroller. Really Chase, is this outburst necessary? Mommy is trying to hurry. We'll be going in a minute, you know--sixty seconds? Count to sixty with Mommy, Chase. 1, 2, 3........

Lady in next Dressing room: Snickers a little too loudly for my liking

Chase: Waahhhh, Waaahhhh, Wahhhhhh (translation: I plan on howling for the next 2 hours straight as punishment for your bringing me here)

So we left. And, yes, I hung the red halter mess on the rack outside the door.