Sock it to me

YoungestGirl hates socks. Well, not quite. She loves socks. Just not on her feet. Excitedly, every morning she squeals with delight when the socks come out of the drawer. And she then spends the next twelve hours of consciousness excitedly pulling them off again.

Her absolute favourite thing to do is to pull both socks off, stand up and toddle over to me, excitedly presenting both socks as some sort of trophy, like a cat returning with a mouse for its owner. I then have to acknowledge her excellence, briefly consider putting her socks back on, before dismissing it as a hopeful, but ultimately futile gesture, and allow her to toddle around the house sockless. So far, so good.

Except, her next behaviour is more scirurine than feline. (Scirurine: pertaining to a squirrel. I looked that up.) Once I have acknowledged her cleverness in removing her socks, she then squirrels them away somewhere utterly ingenious. When it is time to leave the house, I then need to try and locate the socks to replace on her feet. I can never fucking find them.

Until eventually I give up, put a new pair of socks on her, leave the room for two seconds to get her shoes, come back into the room, and lo and behold, she’s brandishing four (count them) socks. I swear she does it just to wind me up.

We tried the Sock-Ons, which are like expensive mini-Lycra bandages that hold the socks in place. They work really well, but they’re tiny and basically always get swallowed by the washing machine. So we now have three non-matching Sock-Ons, two of which are way too small and may be cutting off circulation to her toes. I have been too slack/tight to buy any more.

Shoes are a recent thing for YoungestGirl, as she hasn’t been toddling long. So far, they seem to be doing a fairly decent job of preventing sock removal. But until the shoes came along, her other favourite pastime was pulling off a sock and distributing it somewhere whilst we were out shopping, as if she was creating the world’s shittest, sockiest treasure trail. “Find it, Mummy!”

Three weeks ago I bought her a bumper pack of six pairs of socks. Twelve socks in total. All of them cute. All of them fitted. We are now down to five socks. NONE OF THEM FUCKING MATCHES THE REMAINING SURVIVORS.

I can no longer finance her expensive sock habit. So from now on, my child will be wearing odd socks. I expect a Social Services referral any day.