Refraining from “I Told You So”

At two months of age, our infant daughter had already outgrown all of her newborn clothes. Being born at nearly ten pounds will do that.

So Jeff and I agreed on the amount we could spend on new baby clothes.

Armed with stroller and wallet, I entered the mall. I planned to visit a few fun stores before heading to Target. And by “fun” I mean “high-end.”

Oh my. The stuff available for baby girls makes grown women croon. This one store in particular specialized in coordinated ensembles – the socks, shoes, headbands, bibs, and receiving blankets all perfectly matched the designated outfit. By the time I bought every matching accessory, I had spent the entire amount allotted from our budget.

Guilt plagued me all the way home. I could have purchased ten separate outfits from Target for the price of this one charming set.

Knowing that I would never be able to convince my ever-so-frugal-accountant-of-a-husband of the necessity of such a purchase, I began to rationalize my actions and prepare my defense.

Honey, we’re having baby pictures taken next week, so I got this whole get up so Brynn would have something special to wear in the photos. Just imagine how cute the pictures will be with these matching hair bows and socks!

Plus, we’re going to that barbeque this weekend, and we’ll be seeing friends who haven’t met our little girl yet. Brynn can wear this outfit when our friends see her for the first time!

“Uh-huh,” was all he could say.

On the day of the big barbeque, I dressed Brynn in her fancy duds. Pure delight filled me. Then, while still in the car, our sweet cherub filled her diaper. She filled it so full, in fact, that it overflowed. Mustard-colored poop pushed its way up her back and squeezed down both of her legs. For some reason, it wouldn’t stop either. The stuff kept coming, and I couldn’t contain it.

As soon as we arrived at the barbeque, I rushed towards the bathroom with Brynn, hoping nothing dropped on the way. The clean-up job required an entire box of wipes.

A total and complete disaster.

Thirty minutes later, Jeff knocked on the bathroom door. “Are you guys okay in there?”

With faucet running, I managed to say, “Yeah, we’re fine. Go back to the party.”

Through the door, he whispered, “I know what you’re trying to do. And you don’t have to. Just put the clothes in a plastic bag and join the party.”

Devastated, I opened the door. Jeff found the once-beautiful outfit soaking in the sink. No detergent on earth could act as a magic cure.

Utterly ruined.

If ever there was a time to say, “I told you so,” it was at this moment.

Instead, he picked Brynn up, kissed my forehead and never brought it up again.

Needless to say, I never shopped at that store again either. It wasn’t worth it. Not with our budget. And if a circumstance happens to arise when I feel the urge to tell him, “I told you so,” I remember that day.