Pajamas: Because nothing says “I was sleepy until I pissed off my child by putting you on them” like pajamas.
I understand the ideas behind wearing pajamas:
- They are supposed to be comfortable, because day clothes are not designed for this trait – they are supposed to make you look good (to varying degrees of success) or at the very least, interesting. When one accidentally (or purposefully) falls asleep in day clothes, you are almost guaranteed to wake up with an imprint of some sort, branded into your skin by the button on your jeans. Sweatpants – while often worn in public – don’t count as day clothes, as they technically fall into the “workout clothes” category. Thus, the need for pajamas. Or clean sweatpants. Unless you live in Texas and it’s too damn hot to wear sweatpants 360 nights of the year.
- They are supposed to be flame retardant. Because one is only likely to spontaneously combust while sleeping.
- They are supposed to be clean and thus, keep our sheets clean so we don’t have to wash them every day. Seriously, who has time for that? Our daily clothes get dirty: food, pollen, baby drool, smoke, snotty kids, pet hair – you name it. We don’t want to take that crap to bed with us. Pajamas (and a shower if we’re lucky) are supposed to fix that problem.
Because of Reason #3, we don’t typically put on pajamas until ready for bed. Otherwise, it sort of negates that entire benefit – especially for my one year old who is likely to somehow spit up, drool, or have a leaky diaper if you dare to let her play in her pajamas. Or if you hold her while wearing yours.
So imagine it’s bedtime. You have a little girl with droopy eyes, heavy head, just waiting to pass out on your shoulder.
Time for the pajamas.
However, the simple act of taking off clothing – which goes okay – then daring to replace them with evil pajamas, transforms the I-Was-Almost-Asleep-Lil-Diva into a What-the-frack-do-you-think-you’re-doing-I-don’t-want-to-wear-pajamas-or-have-my-diaper-changed-You-should-have-just-left-me-alone-because-now-I’m-going-to-scream-and-fight-going-to-bed-with-every-fiber-of-my-being-so-I’ll-be-up-another-hour-at-least-until-these-pajamas-are-so-soaked-with-drool-and-snot-from-my-crying-runny-nose-that-you’ll-have-to-change-me-again-and-repeat-the-process-Lil-Diva.
It’s rather like watching Linda Blair in The Exorcist.
It isn’t pretty.
Even when I change into my pajamas the lethargy that was so strong I could barely separate my butt from imprint it formed on the couch instantly vanishes. I’m left lying awake in bed, wondering why the frack I’m no longer tired and can’t fall asleep.
It seems to me, pajamas should make you sleepier, not sleepless.
Seriously, what the frack pajamas?!