My name is Christine. And I have an addiction to buying baby girl’s clothing.

I think God knew what he was doing when he gave us our daughter last. I don’t think there would have been room in our house for the clothes that I have already accumulated for her. Now, don’t get me wrong, I don’t dress my boys in rags or anything. But just being honest, boy’s clothes are definitely less exciting than little girl’s clothes. I do remember even uttering the words, “Oh, I really don’t think I will get so into the girly clothes fashion craze that so many moms do.” Those were my famous last words. I should have known better.

I come from a long line of “fashion-appreciators.” My dad’s mom was an amazing seamstress in her younger years. She designed elegant evening gowns for women and dainty dresses for little girls. My mom’s mom worked in retail when she was younger. She worked at a wedding boutique displaying elaborately beaded wedding dresses then at children’s clothing boutiques where the most adorable threads were easily accessible. My mom always had my sister and I dressed very fashionably. We were blessed in that regard. I don’t ever remember a time when we were wanting for clothes or shoes.

Within the past five months, I too have gone through a transformation in my way of thinking about clothes for my daughter. In fact, she dresses better than I do. I have bought much of her wardrobe second-hand or been given a few things from my very generous cousin’s daughter. So Mini Boden, Matilda Jane, Baby Gap are labels that are on many of her tiny outfits. And I do buy pieces that will mix and match well (like her adorable mint green tights that look just as cute under her jean skirt as they do with her red and gray stripped Mini Boden dress with applique birds on it…swoon). And I would be lying if I said I don’t spend considerable chunks of time scouring the internet for deals on unique fashion finds priced on sale or clearance.  And I subscribe to different websites that inform me of upcoming sales. My heart kind of skips a beat when I see a notification in my inbox for them. Yeah… It’s actually becoming a problem. Because even though I am finding some obscenely good finds, it all adds up. And I sort of flinch when I have to tell Scott how much I spent on clothes after a good sale.

I keep justifying my purchases saying that they will make great hand-me-downs for my cousins or sister who are now having babies. Two of my cousins just had daughters. And my sister doesn’t know what she’s having yet. So if she has a daughter, she will be sitting pretty! Literally. Plus, for some of those Matilda Jane items, I know I can sell them at a resale shop and make back a nice lump of cash if they’re still in good condition. And most of them are still in great shape! I mean, she’s in these clothes for all of a few hours of her life. They out-grow everything so quickly.

And there is the sad truth exposed. My husband is fast to catch me in this pretzel-logic all the time. These little babies wear this stuff for five minutes of their lives. Does it really matter where it’s from? Carter’s brand is sold at a chain grocery store right near our house. And sure, it’s cute. And warm. And often on clearance. Sigh. But it’s just not Persnickety Boutique, is it?

I know this is probably a horrible analogy, but it’s kind of like cocaine. Once you get a total stranger approaching you at the apple orchard and telling you how precious your daughter’s corduroy bloomies are, your boy’s stained-up, second-hand gerber onsies just won’t seem good enough anymore.

I have become that mom. The one I said I wouldn’t become. I do shop on Etsy for custom made t-shirts. I do have a headband to match nearly every outfit of her wardrobe (although I have made most of them!). I do agonize over her outfits just as much as mine before a social function. Hmm… those shoes don’t quite go with that dress. I think I need them in gold AND silver…

How do I stop the madness?! She is my living baby doll. I am just so in love with her  chubby cheeks and big smile. I want to dress her in a way that I feel is fitting for how special she is to me. And since she’s a girl, society makes it so easy to go crazy over it. But I know I need to take it down a notch. Admission is the first step to recovery, right?