A columnist discovers what my wife and I and many other parents eventually discover.
At eighteen months, my daughters started caring about what they wore. A lot. And what they wanted was pink and purple, to the exclusion of every other color. The occasional yellow or red was acceptable, but the suggestion of a blue dress was met with distress, and brown was anathema. For a while, I could get them to wear jeans or shorts with t-shirts; and then they realized that if they screamed enough, I would relent and put them in dresses. Spending time with toddlers is an exercise in choosing battles, and this was one I was willing to concede.