devil's pantsuit

i do not have babies. as a result, i rarely shop for baby clothes. i had no idea what a luxury this was. if you've spent any time visiting this blog you know i knit and that lately most of the knitting has been clothing for the small folks. and i know a little bit about babies, mostly scientific stuff like how babies respond best to bright things the first six months they're around. it's not that they can't see other things like pastel bunnies and blankies, it's just that they react more strongly to the intense stuff. high contrast. babies won't wither and die without it. it's just what they're drawn to. and although i do make the cute little pastel things from time to time, it's more interesting for me as a knitter to do bright stuff, especially stripes. and devil pants.

so i made some devil pants for a friend who lives across the country and with the leftover yarn made some black and red striped shorts. cotton and silk, good for desert winter. i thought i'd pick up a little black t shirt somewhere and send the whole packet out into gila monster territory. since i live in nyc, close to some of the best (or most easily available) boutique shopping around, i wasn't worried. i live in flatbush, brooklyn only a few train stops away from park slope, ground zero for overindulgent parents. finding a hipster t shirt for a baby should be like shooting fish in a barrel. park slope is a loose confederation of brownstones, small restaurants, ridiculously priced clothing and trinket stores and maybe 900 little meccas for ornamenting babies. all different. all preciously hip. tragically hip? no, that's a band.

and like always, i come up out of the subway at 7th ave and head toward salvation. it is 90 degrees, which means the station is slightly warmer. i have the devil pants in my bag, thinking i'll be able to hold them up to whatever i find to get the right size. i go into the first tiny store filled with precious things. there is a stroller near the register. the price tag says it costs more than my first, second and third cars all together. the woman working there glanced at me and gave me a face that suggested maybe i smelled different than i should. she spends her day surrounded by babies who are pooping, peeing and barfing so i suspect it's just the look she gives the barren. yes, that's right. women who work in boutique baby stores can recognize a woman who isn't shopping for her own baby, a woman who can't be convinced to buy the bazillion dollar humvee stroller, and she doesn't like us. although i was the only person in the store, i had to say, "excuse me," and squeeze past her to get to the small fry clothing. she didn't budge and nearly knocked me over. she also still didn't acknowledge me by saying anything. hello. may i help you? please get out of my store, you barren monster. then in walked a mommy, dragging two screaming children in a stroller. the store woman was delighted. the two women abandoned the screaming children and began squealing over new merchandise. the older child, a girl of four or so, stopped crying when her mom held up a little shirt. the mom put it on the counter. this shirt cost more than everything i'd dragged onto my body today. and i'm talking all store-bought clothes. no thrift store stuff and no long term loans from a sister. but the baby kept screaming. i edged around the stroller log jam and peeked in, half afraid i'd see the baby covered with scorpions. it was that sort of crying. attack of the scorpions crying. but the two women were able to carry on as before, ignoring this poor child. as i sidled out, another mommy came in with a six year old screaming, "i want..." whatever. she was unintelligible, but i'm sure whatever it was, her mom bought it for her after she found it, grabbed it, and threw it across the room. there were no black t shirts there.

the next store was a little larger and after a few minutes wandering around the store alone (again, there was nobody else there. just me.) i finally asked the terribly bored woman behind the counter about black baby clothes. she led me to some beautiful pink t shirts with ruffles on the sleeves. "these are very nice," i said, "but they're not really as black as i'd hoped." oh. she didn't realize i wanted black clothes. no. they don't carry things like that. especially not for the little babies. fifteen blocks down and across the street i walked into yet another empty store. you'd think these folks would be all over a customer since it seems like they don't get many. i told the woman what i was looking for. a black t shirt for a 3-6 month old. "you should really get a onesie," she said. so i revised my search. "do you have any black onesies for a 3-6 month old baby?" no. she then proceeded to tell me that she carried very nice things and her prices were far better than those of nearby stores. so how are your prices on black baby clothes? i wanted to ask. she said to check back in the fall. "black is a cold weather color." she also suggested i go a few more blocks and cross the street.

i did. very chic store. very expensive. at this point i was ready to drop fifty bucks for a stinking black t shirt if it would get me out of baby clothes hell. there were two women working in the store and i asked my question. do you have any black t shirts. i want a black t shirt or onesie for a baby, 3-6 months. it's pretty specific. the stores are small and honestly, the small baby sections of these stores are pretty limited. it's not a tough question. one of the women simply walked away. the other paused, thought for a very long time, then wandered back to the shelf (one shelf) where the little baby things were. she looked for a long time at the four little piles of shirts. purple pile. yellow pile. pink pile. green pile. what was she looking for? is this what happens when people go stare into the fridge at night? they're hoping something will materialize that wasn't there before? finally, after what seemed like two hours, she said, "no, i don't think we do. but we have this nice purple one." why can't people hear me when i speak?

so i left seventh avenue for fifth. more restaurants and bars than baby boutiques, but it still boasted plenty. you're remembering that it's still above 90 degrees outside. i've walked about two miles at this point. the woman in the first baby store on fifth eyed me like i was contaminating her store. i should say at this point i knew a little of what i was up against and actually got dressed up for this. blue linen skirt and a red shirt (not made of t-shirt material) with a ruffly bit of a cap sleeve and a real live v shaped girl neckline. and i was carrying a bag that was not made by the u.s. army. i looked like a grown up. in fact, i looked like a teacher. i was clean and i'd brushed my hair and put it in a loose bun. perhaps the relatively sleeveless nature of the feminine red shirt let her see that i don't shave under my arms and she deduced, properly, of course, that i am a horrible animal. a monster of some sort. maybe i just smelled from two hours of walking in 90+ degree heat. but she assessed me and knew who i was. i asked my question. "have you tried the mall?" she said flatly. "i'm sure old navy or target would have something like that." actually, i was pretty sure they wouldn't so i didn't even try. but she had my number. i didn't belong in a store with forty dollar onesies. my ruffly red shirt came straight out of old navy.

on my way to old navy, i passed by one more baby boutique. i went in, asked my question. the kind woman pointed me to a precious yellow t shirt with a frog on it. it was really a lovely frog. why didn't she understand my question? what is so difficult about "black t shirt"? so i said, "that's really a lovely frog, but i'm looking for a black t shirt. plain black". and she looked at me like she was seeing me for the first time. she smiled that smile you get when you're telling a child monsters don't really live in the closet and under the bed. she was getting ready to tell me the truth. "well, they don't really like black". wow. that's a loaded sentence out of context, but i interrupted, nodding. "yeah, parents like to put their kids in soft colors..." "no," she insisted. "the babies. they don't like wearing black." oh. i see. i guess she got that email from all the babies in the world where they decided to boycott black. and before i could stop myself, i blurted out, "babies do like black. they like it a lot. parents just force them to wear pastels!" and i continued on my way to old navy.

to be fair, although the parents i know do buy pastels for their kids, i think that's mostly because pastels are what's out there. and i make pastel things for some folks all by myself. because, like most things pastels are fine in moderation. little girls can wear pink. they can also wear a joan jett skirt if they want in black and red. i've sent quite a bit of black, white and red out into the baby world with no complaints from parents or babies. so, on to the mall. daffy's. there's a rack of stuff and i find a cool glow in the dark bat skeleton shirt with long sleeves. perfect. there's only one. it's for an 18 month old. target. what a depressing store. at least the one at atlantic center. at least in the baby section. everything was hannah montanna. i'm not exaggerating. there were several empty racks which will at some point be refilled with more hannah montanna, but nothing in black and nothing at all under 6 month size. same with old navy and target. this is sort of what i'd expected, but i was hoping against hope. i considered, just for a minute, going into the consortium for haitian empowerment office there in the mall. they, at least, like black. instead i struggled back up flatbush avenue toward my stop. after nearly four miles of walking, all of it at 90+ degrees, i stopped in at a nearby cafe to reward myself for my suffering. iced mocha. no matter what you say, i deserved it. as the very kind woman, a woman who said hello to me when i walked in the door, smiled, asked what i wanted, said no problem and then set about to help me get exactly what i wanted (whipped cream? why, yes. thank you) made my mocha, i gazed out the window toward the subway entrance. right next door is american apparel. you know them. they put those emaciated women in panties in their ads. they look like the grown up versions of those save the children children. glassy eyed. starving. hideous. but they do sell tons of cotton in every color of the rainbow. and the other colors as well. free range cotton with no sweatshop labor. shade grown. heh. so i grabbed my mocha and got myself over there. the first thing that hits you when you enter an american apparel store is the tinny, heart attack music. my students don't listen to junk like this. but it's blasting. it's an assault. did i mention i'm starting to realize i'm really forty? the teenagers behind the counter stared like deer. i walked straight to the baby section. black. black black black. hoodies. t shirts. onesies. thank you, american apparel. truly, you are kings among men. and for $18 i had a black hoodie made without sweatshop labor in a 3-6 month size.

then i got home. perfect. exactly right. and i started thinking about the desert and the gila monsters. i know most deserts get cool at night, especially in winter, but have you ever been to phoenix? phoenix has designed this horrible zone around itself that stays warm even during an ice age. so today i will go back. i will brave the music and the slack jawed teens. these are things i am familiar with and feel safe around anyway. i will get the onesie or the tee and will pack up the silk and cotton devil pants and shorts along with the tee and will send it to the new child living among the rattlesnakes and scorpions and gila monsters so they will welcome him and his pointy tailed self as one of them and will help keep him safe. and i will send the hoodie on to the new supernatural nephew as soon as i knit some pants to go with it. it's a cloaking hoodie anyway and i don't know this new desert dwelling child well enough to send him something a complicated as that.