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This weekend I purchased a dress that, in my opinion, I believe to be quite fashionable. It’s appropriately tentish in style to accommodate my current condition, but is also appropriately chic to accommodate life post-maternity.

It’s light and airy and perfect for the pending summer months. And, as my mother and sister agreed, screamed “Ashley.”

I decided to wear it to work yesterday. Sunny was already seated in her highchair when I walked into the kitchen for breakfast wearing my new garment. I rounded the corner, and upon seeing me in this ensemble, her face dropped, and in a very distressed and upset voice she proclaimed, “Ooooooh nooooo, mommy. Mommy dress. Oh no. Mommy dress messy.”

She pointed to the abstract, cut and sewn flower pattern that bursts across the right side of the dress. James and I reassured her that, in fact, the dress was just as it should be. The designer had intentionally made the dress “messy.” It was okay.

As though a toddler understands the nuance of fashion.

All day, whenever she’d see me, she’d bemoan my messy dress.

I can’t wait to hear her opinions on my style when she’s 15. Although it’ll sound more like, “God mom, you’re so lame.”