Onesies

When I got my vasectomy almost 40 years ago, having never fathered (as far as I know) a child, I never thought I’d find myself purchasing a onesie. Hell, I didn’t know what a onesie was. But about a decade later, I acquired children (stepchildren) who were ages 8 and 10 at the time, and the 10 year old somehow ended up in her 30s, married, and the mother of two daughters, providing us with two granddaughters and for me a reason to find out what onesies are. I’ve now, in fact, bought two onesies (“two onesies”; that’s an odd phrase that I’m certain I’ve never written or uttered before). The first was four years ago for my first granddaughter, Ellie. I found it at an upscale shop on the Plaza in Kansas City that catered to baby-boomer grandparents (like me). It featured the image of Jimi Hendrix, with something like “Baby Rocks” across the front. It was hugely over-priced, targeted directly at me, and Ellie only wore it once that I know of (that’s apparently the way it is with infants’ clothes, which they outgrow in weeks, particularly when there’s an incongruent image of Hendrix involved). I bought my second onesie yesterday for our new granddaughter, Abby. This time I went more practical (and less exorbitant) – yellow, with simple black lettering: IOWA (gold and black are the University of Iowa’s colors), an early hint that we would like her to begin considering Iowa as a school she might attend, not that she could save money by staying with us or anything, though of course she could, if she wants. And Ellie could take up the electric guitar. Or come to Iowa too. We don’t want to be pushy grandparents though. But then that seems to be one of the subtexts of the onesie.