Pajama Pants FAIL!!!

Remember all the wardrobe issues we are having with Monkey?  It carries over into the pajama part of the wardrobe, too.

I found a shirt off the clearance rack for only $1.00, and decided to make Monkey a pair of comfy, knit, pajama pants.

Only…

I loaned my pattern to a friend and still don’t have it back.

No worries.  I’ve made oodles of pajama pants, so I’ll just use my memory!

Oh.  Bad idea.  This is what Monkey’s pants ended up looking like:

How about that diaper wedgie?!  Nice, eh!  Oh goodness.  These pictures make me laugh so hard!  Look at Monkey’s gut:

Ha ha ha!  They turned out WAY too small!

Awwww…but he’s still so, so cute!  :)

Did you know that Monkey just turned two?

Yep.  He did, and it still makes me sad.  He’s my baby!  He’s supposed to stay that way!

A big part of my sadness is knowing that I can’t have anymore babies, even though I’ve got five kids.  Maybe I’d feel differently if the decision to not have anymore babies had been mine and my hubby’s.  Thanks to all of my “girl problems” The Hubsters and I had a really hard time getting all of our babies here.  After Monkey was born, I had to have a hysterectomy.  I’d fought it for four years, and my body had had it.  It was time.  It’s a very long story, so I’ll stop here.  But if you are one who struggles with infertility and recurrent miscarriage, my heart goes out to you.  I’ve been there, and it was the hardest thing I’ve ever gone through.

…and since I’m feeling all melancholy, I’ll share just one more thing.

Song for a Fifth Child

by Ruth Hulburt Hamilton

Mother, oh Mother, come shake out your cloth,

Empty the dustpan, poison the moth,

Hang out the washing and butter the bread,

Sew on a button and make up a bed.

Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?

She’s up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.

 

Oh, I’ve grown shiftless as Little Boy Blue

(Lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).

Dishes are waiting and bills are past due

(Pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo).

The shopping’s not done and there’s nothing for stew

And out in the yard there’s a hullabaloo

But I’m playing Kanga and this is my Roo.

Look! Aren’t (his) eyes the most wonderful hue?

(Lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).

The cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow,

For children grow up, as I’ve learned to my sorrow.

So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust go to sleep.

I’m rocking my baby and babies don’t keep.

 

‘Aint that the truth!