(Take two... finding my happy place)
So- we have now entered the phase of "toddler girly-girl" ness where clothing is chosen or not, strictly for it's ability (or lack-there-of) to "twirl" properly when worn. With pants of course, or tights.
Iris stands in front of her dress rack and assesses with devine scrutiny each and every dress that she has. She's ruthless... she's the Simon Cowell of dresses. She points with her little judging finger and silently mouths "twirly, twirly, not twirly, a little twirly, a lot a lot twirly"....etc. And then has to "twirl test" each one personally- whipping off the sad limp losers with a huff and a flick.
Oh the joys of girls.... I guess... I wouldn't really know- this is my first experience with this sort of "dressing myself" ritual. And I myself was a bellbottomed corduroy kind of gal... not too into the dresses- unless of course they looked JUST like Laura Ingalls or Holly Hobby- I was all "calico-a-go-go" in my younger, more dramatic days where I pretended to haul wood, haul water, make rag dolls, ration honey... in the way that those little girls in the little house on that little prairie did. But that was just for pretending... Iris is dead serious.
This is fashion baby.