Welcome to parenting: where kids need new clothes every single season. No matter how much you buy, it’s never enough—and it never fits.

When they’re babies, the growth is wild. Newborn becomes 0–3 months, then 3–6, 6–9, 12 months… You blink, and the onesie that fit yesterday is suddenly cutting off circulation. But once they hit toddlerhood, we got a brief reprieve—clothing sizes started lasting a whole year. Glorious.

Then came size 8 and up, and I thought, “Finally! These clothes are labeled in two-year increments—10/12, 14/16—we’re going to get some mileage out of these!”

Nope.

Turns out kids grow like invasive weeds. I pull out the “brand-new” uniform khakis I bought in late winter, and now they’re capris. “Didn’t I just buy these?” I ask, as if saying it out loud will reverse time or magically extend an inseam.

And don’t even try to buy fall clothes in July. You’ll feel proud, organized, ahead of the game—and come October, those pants will be high-waters. The sleeves will mock you. The waistband will laugh.

Now, my son? Sizing has always been pretty straightforward. He fits the chart. Maybe it’s his fall birthday, maybe it’s sorcery. I don’t question it.

My daughter? A sizing enigma. I’ve had to take in every. single. pair. of pants. Nothing fits her waist. She’s all long legs and no hips, and regular sizing is a joke. Slim fits have been a recent revelation—but wow, who knew “pants that don’t fall down” would be such a breakthrough?

And that’s just sizing. Let’s talk about fit and fabric.

Babies are easy. You get all the say. You can color-coordinate everything so they leave the house looking like a magazine ad. Then COVID hits, and your once-uniformed Catholic school suddenly allows gym clothes five days a week. Goodbye, cargo pants and striped polos. Hello, sweatpants and athletic shorts on repeat.

One day, the underwear that’s worked for years suddenly doesn’t fit. The cotton keeps shrinking in the wash. So you transition to a polyester blend like you wear—problem solved, right? Wrong. Now it doesn’t come up high enough in the back. When she sits, it sinks down. (Newsflash: every pair of pants does that—but that kind of logic doesn’t fly with an 8-year-old.) Then it hits me: she wants briefs instead of bikini. Score one for Mom.

One year, he likes swimsuits with the mesh brief inside—he doesn’t know any better. Then Mum Mum accidentally buys a pair with a shorts liner, and just like that, we need a new brand of swimsuit.

“This rashguard gives me a rash.”
“These pants are too stiff.”
“I only wear pajamas with cuffs at the bottom.”
And on and on and on.

If I ever get my son into a pair of jeans, pigs will probably be flying overhead in denim jackets.

I try to remind myself they’re human—just like me. Sometimes the clothes that technically fit just don’t feel right anymore. Comfort matters. Fabric matters. Fit matters. I get it. That’s why I’ve started dragging them into actual stores lately instead of ordering everything online. And surprisingly? It helps. They try things on. They give feedback. Sometimes we even leave with something that isn’t immediately destined for the return pile.

Someday, they’ll stop growing. Their sizes will stabilize. Maybe they’ll even wear clothes for more than one year. But by then… they’ll be out of my house, and not my problem anymore.

(Though let’s be honest—I’ll probably still be footing the bill.)

Meanwhile, I’m over here wearing the same jeans I’ve had since the Bush administration. I only get rid of clothes when they have holes—or when I see a photo from 15 years ago and realize I’m still wearing that shirt.  🤦🏻‍♀️

What’s your sizing struggle? Long legs? Tiny waist? Shirts that shrink after one wash? Commiserate with me in the comments—misery loves company (especially if it’s wearing last season’s jeans).