Just last week, I reported that Dave was accusing me of some pathological need to make everything match. I basically dismissed this notion, putting any kind of coordinated outfits down to coincidence. Since then, I've paid a little more attention to what we all have on, and you know what? There may be something to Dave's theory. The other day I was wearing a cantaloupe-colored tank top; Eleri's onesie? Melon and white stripes. Yesterday I noticed that Eleri's onesie and my tank were the exact same shade of robin's egg blue. But the kicker came last night, after we all got caught in the rain and had to change into clean, dry clothes.
Now, there's nothing more "neutral" or "basic" than white, and onesies and wife beaters are both commonly found in white cotton. But if you look really closely, you may be able to tell that the mint barrette that I casually grabbed for Clio's hair is the exact same green as the stitching on Eleri's onesie (not to mention matchin Eleri, socks and all, to her bouncey seat). This is all purely subconscious, I promise you. And, come to think of it, it's not nearly as bad as my maternity leave with Clio, when I often found myself walking around town in khaki, chocolate brown, and black- not my normal palette, but exactly the colors of the infant carseat/ stroller and diaper bag. Quelle coincidence! Not to go all psych 101 on you, but do you suppose I'm striving for control in a world made chaotic by babies?