As a police officer I spent many a moment wrestling drunks into submission, wading into barroom brawls, and separating combatant couples.
But nothing compares with the sheer exhaustion of trying to put a six-month-old into a onesy (who designed that nightmare?) and a one piece pull over sweat suit.
Dragging away drunken outlaw biker gang members engaged in a battle with a rival club is child’s play compared to dressing an infant…and they often smell better.
You get a leg in, start on the other, and the first one is out. Get the snaps done, and find a extra one. Undo it all, and a leg pops out. And the socks. Don’t even get me started on them. It would seem like they have built in handles at the toes designed to allow the child to yank them off as quickly as you put the on. I briefly flirted with the idea of duct taping them to his legs, but decided it would likely be frowned upon by his mother.
Want to become rich? Invent infant resistant socks
And, to add insult to injury, the little guy thinks contorting his grandfather into a tangle of arms, legs, and random pieces of clothing is the most hysterically funny moment of his life.
As it turned out, my choice for the wardrobe met with harsh criticism. I thought he looked very stylish, although it turned out I put the onesy-thingy on backwards.
And the peaceful, almost cherubic look on the little guy’s face is but a public relations ploy to conceal the devilish sense of humor unleashed as I try to dress him.
And I enjoyed every moment.