Cold Feet

It’s official, Chickie’s not a baby anymore. He has pyjamas.

As I culled his 12-18 month baby grows, replacing them with his new, neatly folded co-ordinating t-shirt/trouser combos, I felt a twinge of wistfulness at the transition of my chubby little baby into a boy now deemed big enough to brave a footless two piece. “Won’t his feet get cold?” I asked Accountant. “He’ll be fine” came the standard male response. I made a mental note to check Chick’s tootsies at regular intervals that night to make sure.

To me, the baby grow is perfection. Everything neatly and efficiently snuggled into one glorious piece of comfortably stretchy fabric. No draughts, no creasing, no ironing, no socks. If they came in my size, I’d have fifty, in black velour.

That’s why I feel sad for Chickie’s loss. Unfortunately though, it’s a fact of life that things get less comfortable the older you get, starting with the purchase of your first pair of pyjamas. Don’t worry though Chickie, I’ll do everything I can to keep your feet toasty. X