Mummy left me at nursery today a very excited lady; the carers in the baby room had declared me Best Dressed Baby! What an accolade! I’m quite chuffed myself, but I take it all in my shuffle.
I know Mummy gets wardrobe-envy when she sees my clothes, and she’d love some of my things in her size. I do wear it well, and it must be said, I am developing a pretty enviable sense of style. I can make all sorts of unconventional combinations work!
I don’t know where I get it from. I love my mummy dearly, but she’s not exactly a style icon. And as for Daddy, I’m not sure he even knows what the word ‘fashion’ means! Give Mummy her due, she does try. Apparently she tried harder before I came along, but now the focus is more on what’s least likely to show my lunch!
She has a very sad story of when she started a new job in a predominantly female open-plan office. One day, she came back in having bought her lunch from the sandwich man outside, and the office was empty. They all came back that afternoon raving about the new boutique they’d visited, and one delivered the ultimate snidy put-down; “We’d have asked you along but we didn’t think you’d be interested in clothes.” Ouch. Not that she’s bitter – it was only ten years ago.
Anyway, I’ll enjoy the oohs and aahs whenever I go in to nursery as they tell me how beautiful I look. For the moment, I still have all the innocence and none of the self-doubt. Long may it continue.