Our nearly 18 month old has not yet held onto a blanket for more than twelve seconds, has had no connection to a stuffed toy or chewy giraffe. She’s been content with the toys that make up her surroundings and her entertaining playmates, her sisters.

I wondered if she would just be one of those kids without that one special toy to slobber on, take with her for long car rides, or cuddle with when she’s feeling under the weather. Then this week, I introduced Chloe to a new pair of fleece pyjamas from Carters with frogs on the pants.

Clearly, the p.j.’s were what she had been waiting for. Don’t ask why a pair of pyjamas, why frogs, why fleece because your guess is as good as mine. The bond they have is real and it’s ridiculously cute.

She’s just tall enough to stand and stick her nose into her pyjama drawer after a bath and select the sleeper she wants to wear to bed. Don’t give her too much credit, she just grabs the one on top and slams the drawer shut but feels victorious when she hands them to me as if she’s negotiated a major business deal in her favour and her footed prize will keep her warm tonight.

Earlier in the week, she had selected her sleeper for the night and just before I put it on, I held up the froggy p.j.’s to see if she was ready for them yet as they were on the large side. She grabbed the familiar sleeper from my grasp, tossed it fifteen feet away and ripped the frogs from my hands, hugging them and attempting to ribbit while she danced around the room in her diaper.

Me: Chloe, would you like to wear these frog pyjamas tonight?

Chloe: Azuba zube. Azuba zube. Azuba…

I know, zube.

Sometimes when she wants to be taken seriously, she sticks her pointer finger under my eyelid to be sure I’m paying attention and with purpose says, “Azuba zube.” It’s the modern day equivalent of “You’ll rue the day” if you don’t do what I’m asking. I think in this case she meant, get these p.j.’s on me right now so I can hop down the hall and dance around like a princess and make it snappy.

She rubbed her hands back and forth on the fleece as if it was a yard of the finest silk money could buy. She yanked at the frogs, throwing her head back and laughing. Frogs on my pants, are you guys catching wind of this? She was delighted.

The next morning was a different story. Our 7am routine involves me lifting Chloe from her crib, taking her into the closet so she can again select her clothes (first shirt on top of the pile, first pants on top of the pile) and I choose the socks. That morning, she refused to select a shirt or pants and closed the drawer on my fingers twice letting me know there would be no need for shirts or pants from now until the end of time, frog pyjamas will do just fine.

She fought me when I tried to remove the pants to get to the soaking wet diaper, scooted away and eventually dodged me with seemingly stronger than usual legs and ran out of the room towards freedom. These frogs were a part of her and I was not taking them off.

So I reasoned with her explaining she could keep the frogs, I only wanted the diaper. I got a fierce “Azuba zube” almost slicing my retina but she agreed to my terms. Getting her dressed was going to take skill and focus but first, I had kids to get off to school.

She lounged in the frogs a few minutes longer and I presented her with her clothes. She proceeded to karate chop them and slice them off the ottoman onto the floor, throwing them in the pit of despair and stomped on them to prove she wasn’t going to budge on this one. I don’t know how I eventually got them off of her. It can be exhausting and detrimental to short term memory to try to outsmart a baby and her fleece.

That night, I agreed to let her wear the frog p.j.s’ again which I never do. I always wash her pyjamas after each wear because they smell like wet diaper. She pulled them out of the hamper and shoved them into my neck in an attempt to crush my larynx. This would allow her more time to speed off down the hall, just a baby and her army of frogs.

After the second night sporting the frogs, they needed to be cleaned. I walked her down to the laundry room, pointed at the machines and explained we were going to give the frogs a bath and before I could continue she took off like a shot. Does she think I’m not going to be able to find her? She’s the worst hide and seeker on the planet. She’s noisy, she can’t stay still but this time she had run into her bedroom closet, crouched behind her door and sat very, very still. Not unlike a frog hiding from a child trying to catch him.

Eventually, I was able to distract her, add the p.j.’s onto a pile of clothes en route to the laundry room and toss them in without her noticing. When she heard me pressing the buttons to start the washer, she raced in and through the glass started shouting, “Azuba zube!!!!”  She watched in horror while her friends swirled around with the clothing of commoners, gagging and gulping down soapy water as opposed to their preferred pond swill.

It took every muscle in my body to pull the poor little frog-lover away from the machine. She waited patiently for the cycle to finish and after a couple of croaks, the three piece ensemble was reunited.

Tomorrow’s agenda: change Chloe’s name to “Lily.”