…their children pay.

Dustin and I aren’t exactly fashionistas, but we like to think of ourselves as well dressed. While honeymooning in Spain, we couldn’t help but join Europe’s obsession with dropped crotch pants. We each came home with a pair. Fast forward to this December. Dust spotted an adorable pair of mauve dropped crotch baby cords, and just couldn’t resist.

They looked so hip on the hanger. And perfect packaged in a Xmas gift box.

It wasn’t until we dropped Cy off the other morning, took off his jacket, and revealed his enormous ‘bubble butt’ that we realized the error of our ways. Taking one look at Cy, our friends and nanny struggled to contain themselves from laughing out loud. In our defense, we mistakenly stuffed a pair of long johns underneath the pants, which only exaggerated the bad fit. Throw in a clashing red and striped top and stumpy winter boots, and the look was all sorts of wrong. We couldn’t help but laugh ourselves. Dropped crotch pants may look cool on a Queen Street hipster, but on a toddler, not so much. The worst part was, I think he could tell. He immediately hung his head from embarrassment and buried his face in Dust’s legs.

It was so bad that when our friend asked where Cy got the pants from, Dust couldn’t bring himself to admit that we bought them ourselves, instead blaming one of our ‘wacky relatives’ for the fashion faux pas. Shameful, I know.

A little later, and overwhelmed with guilt, we had one of those parental epiphanies – this was one of those moments that Cy will look back on one day and curse our existence. Yup. We officially scarred our son.

So when Cy drops out of school and starts piercing his body parts, we’ll call it even.