Jamma, Jamma, Jamma, Jamma, P. Js!

When Sparring Partner and I first started dating and I was sleeping over (‘cause I was a WHORE!), a set of pajamas was just one thing I didn’t worry about keeping in his dresser drawers. It was Happy Naked Time from sun down to sun up. If I needed a little extra covering out of modesty, I would just borrow a t-shirt from his closet. However, under the covers, nothing felt better than that heated waterbed and spooning skin-to-skin.

The longer we dated, the more modest I became. Weird, I know. Maybe it was his cat and the mocking looks he would give me. They were more retribution than anything since I forced him to give up his favorite snoozing spot, which was exactly where my pillow went. Maybe it was because his SIL thought nothing of stopping by unannounced at all times of the day. Whatever it was, I eventually found myself sporting men’s flannel pants and tank tops or t-shirts, which ended up the uniform du jour once I became a mother. Babies don’t care if you’re naked or not when go to sooth them, but babies also have a natural tendency to grab and squeeze whatever they can get their hands on. Even the barrier of a t-shirt saved me several times from what could have been a baby-dropping, nipple pinches.

I tried nightdresses, but they rode up and bunched around my hips. My thighs, growing in heft, would get uncomfortably sticky and hot. Sexy if this was a torrid romance novel, but not so much in this instance. I always returned to the flannel or percale cotton pants. My favorites came from Old Navy. My only complaint with them was how they also tended to ride up my legs, only now bunching at my knees. Being a side-sleeper, this was very uncomfortable. If someone had designed loose fitting pajama pants with stirrups, I’d been all over that. Except I’m sure they would have inspired nightmares about snakes wrapping around my feet.

I made do for years. This summer, before my trip to Boston in fact, I purchased a real grown-up pajama set of pants and matching top, just in case some in-bed snuggling was to be had. They were of satin-esque material and a bitch to fold, slippery as they were. While I unfortunately never had a chance to cuddle with any of the bloggers I met up with in Boston, I did discover something amazing about the satin-ey pants: they didn’t ride up my legs during sleep! I no longer had to reach down half asleep and pull each leg down to my ankles, or even go so far as to get out of bed just to get everything back in line. I lurv my satin-ey pajama bottoms, even if they don’t seem to breathe as well as my cotton. I could eventually upgrade to a pair of silk bottoms with the hopes that they would be breathable as well as provide less friction for my sleeping comfort, but it’s baby steps for now.

What does your nocturnal wardrobe include and has it changed over the years?