The bin of 3T shorts remains missing. At large. Presumably armed, dangerous and in desperate need of some Febreze. Look out! It's behind you! God, it's always in the last place you look, and then it murders you. Ain't that just the way.
I really did hope and believe that by taking the disappearance to the Internet, I would immediately figure out where I put it, leading to an embarrassed, anti-climatic update post the next day. Like, whoops, I found the shorts in Ike's sock drawer, or on a shelf I'd checked six times already, or under my own butt because I've been sitting on it THIS WHOLE TIME. Whomp-whomp.
Some of your suggestions actually did prompt me to look in a few new places, so thank you for trying to help — I realized there was a bag of clothing destined for a local drop-off box in Jason's car trunk, one that I packed up a couple months ago, but of course Jason promptly forgot about it.* I was all set to declare the mystery solved and send the person who made the suggestion a gift card, only to dump out the entire contents in our dining room and confirming that nope. Nope nope. A bunch of Ike's outgrown shirts and a couple of my dresses that I've officially given up on ever getting my expanded ass and boobs back into. And hey! Now I'm reminded about them! Yaaaay.
*Much like Jason promptly forgot about Ike's presence in his car yesterday, when he reversed the school drop-off order and then drove to work on autopilot, making it all the way to the Chain Bridge in D.C. before realizing he'd never dropped Ike off. Ike was just quietly chilling with a juice box, enjoying a little road trip with Dad. Dad was like, "Oh. Hi. Right. That."
So I dunno. I'm leaning ever more towards the possibility that I accidentally purged two sizes' worth of shorts last fall, when I switched Ike's closet over to pants. That alone was already a prematurely dumb move, because I'm sure Ike could still fit in the 2T shorts. But there's something about knowing he's the last baby that makes me insane for closure and finality and GET THIS ALL THIS CRAP OUTTA MAH HOUSE.
Oh, and since several people asked about it, we definitely had 3T shorts. I am definitely not searching high and low for a figment of my imagination, though I certainly wouldn't put that past me. But no, Noah (my giant baby) didn't skip any of the toddler sizes (like he skipped the Newborn, 9 months and 18 month sizes, then wore 24 months for two minutes before moving into 2T). Ezra (my skinny little peanut) wore 3T for what felt like FOREVER. At least two full years, with hand-me-downs from Noah and several other friends/relatives, resulting in more clothes than any one kid could possibly wear and destroy. And since he was only wearing 2T when Ike was born, there's no chance that the next size up would have been given away on purpose.
(HOLY CRAP. I JUST GO ON AND ON AND ON ABOUT THIS. WHY CAN'T I STOP TALKING ABOUT THIS. STOP TALKING ABOUT THIS. NO 1 CURR.)
Anyway, here's Ike wearing one of his fabulous new pairs of shorts, which were purchased with much hate in my heart but I can't deny are pretty snazzy and work well with the rest of his non-missing wardrobe.
(Dressed in head-to-literal-toe blue, and yet still mistaken for a girl yesterday. C'MON!)
(If you think I'm touching that hair before Jamaica and all the opportunities for Wild Feral Toddler in a Humid Island Paradise-type photos, you are wrong. You are wrong and should feel badly about your wrongness.)