Well anyway I'm sure he's wondering what's with all these pyjamas. I'll tell you what. I've been buying them. For Louise.
All the children's pyjamas in this family are usually bought in Penneys, and then probably in the sales. Cheap, cheerful and comfy. Every year Santa brings an unusual new pair or a nightie, in fact it's now a custom and pyjamas appear on every Christmas list.
But this little girl is being treated to a new supply of extra special pyjamas.
You may remember before Louise was born the effort I went to to find a little blanket that was just right for a sick little baby. I know now why I made such a project out of that and I'm fully aware that that is why I've been trawling the internet for the prettiest soft, cotton, button front pyjamas. It was, and is something I can do. So much else is out of my hands. There is nothing I can do to force the phone to ring, or to make sure the surgeon doesn't have a headache that day, or that a microscopic germ won't make it's way into a drain wound. I have no control over those things. So I'll do the things I can do. I can prepare her pillow-slips and the lovely old fashioned soft sheets her 95 year-old Great-Grandma gave us for her little hospital bed so that it will be as cosy as her own bed. I won't be able to take away her pain or her discomfort, but I can make sure that when she's given her anaesthetic her I'll be holding her and that when she wakes up, I'll be there and she won't know I've ever left her alone. I can control that when she's ready to be held, I'll be ready too. And I can make sure that when her new pyjamas arrive in the post I'll wash the factory starch out of them so that when she's ready to wear them they'll be soft and familiar and smell like home. I can do those things. So I will.