Westley is nowhere near being able to dress himself. He can put on his sunglasses and maybe a hat, and that's it.
As I was jiggling Westley into this clothes this morning, I had the thought, looking at his giant limbs, I shouldn't have to do this any more. (Getting Westley dressed is like an athletic event. His arms and legs go on for miles, and he alternates between being totally stiff and going completely limp.) I didn't realize it was my job to drill my son on self-care skills, but (the now defunct) Wonder Time magazine informs me that this is my fault, for not starting with dressing at age two: "[A] year of practice usually results in a three-year-old's ability to dress himself (with the exception of more complex tasks such as buttoning)."
Yeah, not even close. And my kid is closer to four than three!
On one hand, I feel totally screwed—like my kid and I are way behind on this milestone that was, apparently, my job to jump-start. On the other, if Westley has reinforced any adage for me, it's You can lead a horticulture, but you can't make her think. (Wait, that's not...)
Westley has absolutely zero interest in clothing and being dressed. He will walk around with his pants and underwear around his ankles after using the potty rather than pull them up or take them all the way off. On the rare occasion that he does show interest in clothing, it's because he wants nothing to do with it. As soon as he realized he could undress himself (right around age two, I think) he decided nudity was the key to happiness. Or something.
Because Westley is so adept at undressing himself, my gut says he could probably also learn to dress himself. Perhaps not before his fourth birthday, but soon. He's clever; if I worked with him on it, he might actually get into it.
Except that, as far as he's concerned, he has way better things to do.