Julie Jay: Getting Ted dressed is a battle akin to Dunkirk only with more emotional carnage

If you see me googling madly on any given day, more often than not, I am looking for tips to get a child’s jumper quickly 

'Of all the parenting trials and tribulations I had anticipated, the many hours I would spend simply trying to get the child dressed was not one of them.'

Julie Jay

COMEDIAN

The first thing I did when Darling Husband and I became official was attempt to change him completely.

When I say change, I am not referring to his personality or political leanings — no, I went straight for the important stuff and updated his wardrobe from noughties bachelor to roaring ’20s dad.

Gone were the bootleg jeans and in came the chinos; we said sayonara to the unbuttoned corporate shirts and hello to our current wardrobe staple, which is something I like to call ‘off-duty garda jumper’.

Much like his father, Ted is similarly allergic to clothing, and this week getting dressed has been a battle akin to Dunkirk, only with slightly more emotional carnage involved. Usually, getting Ted into some outdoor wear involves a cat-and-mouse chase like something out of a Benny Hill TV show minus the blatant misogyny.

Zip-ups used to be quick and easy to get on, but Ted has recently discovered that if a zip can be closed, it can be opened, so his teddy jackets and hoodies are usually flung to the ground quicker than you can say ‘you’ll perish’.

Yes, if you ever happen to be passing through West Kerry, keep your eyes peeled for an unkempt woman running after a two-year-old, clutching a coat and pleading: ‘All the cool kids wear layers.’ But, because it’s windy and the child is laughing so loudly, you will only see her repeatedly mouth the word ‘please’ in between mouthfuls of unbrushed hair.

Every morning I cheerfully announce to Ted it is time to get dressed with the same optimism of a woman who has never been rejected. Ignoring his sudden scowl, I go for the right arm first — Ted doesn’t see me coming, so I’m in there like swimwear. As he attempts to run, I get his head through the vest’s second hole — a win until I discover his head is coming out the arm-hole and there is nothing for it but to take it off and start all over again.

Eventually, Ted is bribed with grapes, which I think is how I get most of the men in my life to do things for me. The grapes are proving an effective reward but I fear the day he discovers grapes are not Skittles, no matter how much I try to convince him otherwise.

Given the practicality of boy clothes, I am finding it hard to wrap my head around why it is so difficult to get Ted dressed. His clothes are more practical than mine, and I’m constantly envious. Pockets, sensible footwear, comfy waistlines all scream wearability.

Still, while my top jean button antagonises me on the daily, I understand the societal implications of venturing up town minus pants, and so I soldier on and try to get my little Mowgli to do the same.

Of all the parenting trials and tribulations I had anticipated, the many hours I would spend simply trying to get the child dressed was not one of them. If you see me googling madly on any given day, more often than not, I am looking for tips to get a jumper on a child quickly. The best piece of advice I gleaned so far was to explain to him that clothes are a social norm — needless to say, this advice came via an American parenting expert. It will be placed in the ‘never to actually happen’ basket, alongside a bag of rocket leaves and a mountain of ironing.

Today, as ever, the dressing commences in his bedroom but Ted legs it for the sitting room at the first opportunity. Hot on his tail, I nab him as he rounds the back of the couch and get one leg into his chinos with minimal protests (like his mother, he is quite fond of a slim fit).

Trousers are usually a particular problem because Ted has three legs — at least that’s what it feels like when I’m trying to get one foot in after the other.

By the time we make it to the playground, I am exhausted. He is wearing a jacket, not the coat I wanted him to wear but a jacket, nonetheless, so it’s a win for mammy.

A slightly older child who had been swinging from a monkey bar toddles over to us. ‘Ted has different gloves on!’ he gleefully informs me.

What I want to say is ‘what are you, the glove police?’ but because he is approximately five years of age, I say ‘that’s the least of our problems, Elon*’ — a statement which, now that I think about it, is quite a loaded one.

As he descends the slide, I spot that Ted’s wellies are most definitely on the wrong feet. Along with the mismatching gloves, this could be the next iconic look. I shrug it off with the nonchalance of a woman who has her jumper on back to front.

Undeterred, I pull down Ted’s RTÉ hat which is only slightly too big. I ‘borrowed’ the hat from a newsreader last year and still wear it on occasion, purely to get people thinking I’m after landing a telly gig.

I message DH to ask what he wants for Christmas, and he gets back straight away to say a pair of dark-coloured bootleg jeans. Because it is no longer 2004 — despite what J Lo and Ben Affleck would have you believe — I go online and pick out a pair of pink chinos.

Nothing says ‘Happy Christmas’ like a present they haven’t asked for but a present you know they need.

*Please note Elon is, in fact, a pseudonym.