The Devil IS A Blue Dress

For picture day last week, Mia wore a brand spankin' new dress: turquoise with white polka dots and a yellow ribbon around the empire waist. It suited her perfectly, bringing out her blue eyes and complementing her skin. She looked beautiful.

That night at dinner, she had chocolate milk in a sippy cup. No danger of spilling, I thought. However, this particular sippy cup had been chewed on and abused to the point that it was no longer spill-proof. I didn't realize until dinner was almost over, that Mia had spilled tiny drops of chocolate milk all over her beautiful new dress.

I don't usually worry about her being a messy eater, unless it's something inherently dangerous like soup or spaghetti. More often than not, we're lucky if she eats at all, so I don't get too concerned about whether or not she'll get herself messy.

I should have worried about it that night. After she was in bed, I sat huddled over her dress with a Tide To-Go stick, finding each tiny individual stain. It would have looked like brown polka dots had invaded the white ones, had I not hunted for every single one. Some stains were so deep into the fabric that it took several tries to erase them enough to where I thought they'd wash out clean.

This was backbreaking work, and I spent close to an hour with the dress before I called it quits. By the end, my eyes were seeing polka dots wherever I looked; they had been burned into my retinas. But I salvaged a dress that had only been worn once, and this was worth temporary blindness.

I threw the dress in the washing machine, confident that it would be as good as new when I pulled it out. It would live to see another wearing.

This is not the case.

It will not be worn again, at least by Mia.

It has shrunk to about 2/3 it's original size.

I said some words.

And I don't regret it.