My 3.5-year-old Josiah is very into dinosaurs lately. I think the fascination started after he first watched “The Land Before Time.” Did you know there are 14 “Land Before Time” movies now, plus 26 episodes of a TV series? My husband and I learned the hard way that after the first movie, composer James Horner hung up his cape and went on to other projects (“Titanic,” “Braveheart” and “Avatar,” to name a few.) The series went downhill after that. I don’t wish the full “Land Before Time” catalogue on anyone with hearing, and our son wants it on repeat.
A few months ago, Josiah started demanding that his clothing have dinosaurs on it. We are lucky to have an entire storage room full of hand-me-down clothes, so I went deep into the bins and pulled every dino-themed piece I could find. At first, all was well. But as his knowledge of dinosaurs grew, so did his standards of dress. Stegosaurus was the first to go. Extinct again, at least in our household. Triceratops soon followed. Then there was to be no more mixing of species. Any shirt that dared put a brachiosaurus next to an iguanodon was dead to him. Now Josiah will only wear clothing with T. rex graphics. And the requirements keep piling up: no smiling T. rexes, no bones (skeletons are out) and yesterday a sweatshirt was nearly tossed into the diaper genie because the dinosaur was sporting eyewear. Glasses didn’t exist in the Jurassic age, Mom!
You will see me in Junebug almost daily, scouring the 4T racks in desperation. And I can’t believe I’m admitting this, but for the first time since becoming a mom, I’m ordering new clothing on the internet. What I wouldn’t give to be able to dress our son the way I used to, before prehistoric fashion police moved into my house. But I suppose this is my first real taste of individuation. My baby is growing up and learning what he likes, who he is and how to tell me about it. It’s sweet, a little heartbreaking and, I guess, exactly how it’s supposed to be.
—Vanessa Dunleavy is an artist and educator in Middlebury.