Pretty much ever since Sophie was born, I’ve kept a running list in my head of clothing items people with Down syndrome should avoid at all costs. These include but are not limited to: top hats, bow ties and overalls. Look, I get that that’s not a particularly politically correct thing to say. But we live in a mean world, people. You’ve got to look your best.

Yesterday I added another item to the list: the track suit.

I don’t even know where Annabelle located a matching pair of pants and jacket in our house, let alone a matching track suit. Yesterday afternoon she and Sophie disappeared and emerged into the kitchen a while later, announcing that Sophie was ready for her very first Special Olympics practice in track and field. (I never did get her signed up for cheerleading; more on that in an upcoming post, I promise.)

I guess Annabelle heard “track and field” and immediately thought “track suit.” Makes sense. I didn’t know til Sophie burst through the door, super excited, that this is not a good look. This was exacerbated by the fact that she was wearing a shirt that said supercalifragilisticexpialidocious on it, along with a pair of purple/black patent leather sneakers. The worst part was her hair, which was (and this is entirely my fault) tangled and greasy and (this she and Annabelle did) stuck half up/half down with about a dozen bobby pins hanging all over her head. Top that off with the smudged Down syndrome-standard-issue glasses, and there you’ve got it. Not Sophie’s best fashion statement.

WHO CARES?! you are no doubt yelling at your computer screen, along with unmentionable labels for me. Before you get too mad, you need to know that I did let Sophie out the door that way. She and Annabelle were really pleased (later Annabelle assured me that she’d put Sophie in a sports bra, just in case) and really excited for Special Olympics.

I was excited, too. And freaked out. Totally freaked out. If you have a special needs kid you might relate to the fact that ever since Sophie was born, not only have I been avoiding fashion mistakes on her part (when let’s face it, I should probably have focused more on my own) I have been thinking about Special Olympics. There aren’t many 100 percent super terrific things about having a special needs kid, but this is definitely one of them. If only, I’ve thought many times, there had been a Special Olympics for me. Alas, being a neurotic sufferer of hay fever and a diet soda addict does not qualify.

But having Down syndrome does, so off we went to a high school track near our house to sign up.

“I just wish Sophie looked cuter,” I thought to myself as we pulled out of the driveway. “Or at least cleaner.”

Really, if there’s one place where it doesn’t matter if your special needs kid is spit-shined it’s Special Olympics, right? Oh but it’s so much more complicated than that, particularly for those of us who are not joiners — the ones who don’t go to the support groups, who mainstream perhaps a bit too much.

Sophie was registering for Special Olympics yesterday, but I was the one being admitted into the club.

The hardest part’s over. We’re in. Sophie had a ball, can’t wait to go back next week. And I’ll get used to what you see at a typical Special Olympics track and field practice, right?

In any case, I’ll get over myself. But I’m hiding that damn track suit, I can tell you that. I’ve pretty much traced all of my clothing-for-developmentally-disabled-people phobias to the movies — “Of Mice and Men,” for example, is the source of my problem with overalls. I’m not sure exactly where the track suit thing comes in. The only movie I can think of in which matched track suits appear is “The Royal Tennenbaums.”

Come to think of it, we could all do worse than to dress like someone in a Wes Anderson movie.