Girls get to wear flowers and polka dots.
Boys are left with stripes and we take full advantage.
I have a weakness for stripey jammies in particular. Seriously is there anything cuter than kiddos in snug-fitting stripey jammies? How about three kiddos in stripey jammies?
At six Henry still loves his stripey jammies, which I’m beyond thrilled about. Last week when purchasing some new pairs I realized that these might be the last pair of stripey jammies he agrees to wear. Sizing isn’t the issue. Instead I worry that he might be hit with some sort of *awareness* or *realization* that these are little kid jammies. Do you know what I’m talking about? That awful time in childhood when the world shifts and you are made aware of other peoples *perceptions.* Big kid vs. little kid vs. baby. Thankfully those days seem to be far off. In the meantime I’m stationed at the front door to fend any unwelcome childhood robbing visitors away.
Perhaps jammies are just a reflection of a bigger goal. The lofty agenda of a mom who holds on tightly to each child, embracing their childhood and avoiding at all costs the constant barrage of a society and parents who want to raise up their children quickly. I cling to my children and encourage them to do the same. I don’t do this to hold them back, but instead I’m hoping to build a solid foundation; encouraging their own sense of self, hoping that they see parents and family as more important than peers, and of course providing a faith model that day in and day out is real and transparent.
Maybe that’s why stripey jammies are tops in my book.