Confusing little clothing

On Wednesday evening, Paul and I were discussing the plans for the next day.  Paul was dropping Henry off earlier than usual because of a meeting and as we were talking through the logistics, I mentioned that as it is getting colder, I'd included some socks with Henry's little outfit for the next day.  Paul asked if there was anything special, or confusing, about these socks.  Um, no.  Just a pair of socks.  And then I remembered why he was asking.

One of the first times Paul had Henry solo was in early April.  Henry was about five weeks old at the time and I had a dental appointment.  I knew I'd be gone only about an hour total and while I was willing to take the baby along that morning (and the dentist and dental assistants were all disappointed I didn't bring him), Paul said he would stay home for a bit extra so I could go alone.

Just as I was sitting down in the dental chair, I had a phone call from Paul.  Henry was pretty congested around this time and was spitting up what seemed like bucketfuls.  He had spit up all over whatever little outfit I'd left him wearing, including his socks, and Paul was wondering where more clothes might be.  We had a quick discussion of possible wardrobe changes and things were good.  So I thought.

When I got home, I met an obviously frustrated Paul.  He was trying to bottle feed a baby who didn't really like bottles at the time.  Said baby was wearing a sleep sack because Henry was fussing about the onesie coming off and that was the easiest thing Paul found to dress him in.  I sympathized.  And then I laughed because I saw the socks.  Most of the little 0-3 month socks we had were the kind that the tops fold over and many of the socks had little puppy dogs or paw print decorations on the outside of the folded over part.  Paul didn't understand this (and understandably, as most boy socks don't do this) so he had turned the socks inside out and put them on Henry.  He'd not pulled the socks all the way up because he knew the little decorations were supposed to only be at the ankle.  Then the socks were too long so the foot part of the sock was just flapping around, not actually on Henry's foot.  Apparently it was a rough hour for Daddy.  But it made for a great story that we could laugh about not that much later.  (And Paul, and Henry, are both better with clothes and bottles these days).