Since When is PJ Shopping Such a Chore?

Today I left the apartment - wild, I know - but I'm actually trying to get out at least once a day, just to retain a minuscule amount of sanity.

So what, pray tell, was the purpose of today's wild excursion?

I went out to buy "labour" gear.

As in something to wear while I'm gritting my teeth, cursing, sweating, and shooting my husband death glares as I try and bring our sweet little Butterbean into the world.

So why the need for special gear you ask? Well, here's the thing...hospital gowns have the tendency to bring out my bad side. They tie tight around your neck, they're horrendously ugly, and they gape open at the most inappropriate times and places - not to mention the fact that who knows who else has worn them going through who knows what.

Also, in my attempts at a natural labour I intend to do as much walking as possible, so something that flashes my ass at other patients and medical staff is not a particularly sought after look. I do intend on wearing a robe when I'm in the halls, but still.

In the different birth videos I've watched I've seen completely naked women, some decked out in a sports bra and nothing else, some wearing a hospital gown, some in flannel nightgowns...really, you name it, women have worn it.

My criteria for gear were simple; get something cheap, that should it get ruined I won't mind chucking in the garbage, and something that is easy for breastfeeding, as every woman who has crossed my path in the past 4 months has pointed out in a necessity.

Sounds simple enough, right?

Wrong.

I headed to Wal-mart, figuring I could get something that fit the bill, that I could live with. Alas, apparently the only people that buy pj's from there are either:

1. Hutterites straight from the colony, that wouldn't be caught dead in anything shorter than ankle length, lower cut than chin level, and with buttons and satin bows galore.

2. Teeny boppers who are all about the little tank tops and boy shorts, complete with messages like "Your Boyfriend is SO Going To Be MY Boyfriend" emblazoned across the chest - which, under normal circumstances would have been what I would have picked - but for the purpose of labour, having to remove shorts for each check of the vajajay would just be a waste of time and energy.

3. Super skankalicious whore-bags who can't afford to shop somewhere cute like Victoria's Secret, so instead settle for cheap, mis-stitched lingerie in an array of hideous colours.

After mumbling curse words for several minutes as I perused the racks, I finally hit upon gold. Disney gold that is. And by gold I mean total crap, but that would do the trick.

I ended up with a fluorescent blue and green nightie, spaghetti straps so it's cool on my skin, short enough that it's easy to haul out of the way, and cheap like borscht. Oh, and the real selling points? *Please insert a bucket's worth of sarcasm here* Winnie the Pooh and Piglet splashed across the front with the words "Bee Groovy", and of course, the ruffle along the bottom.

Oh, I will be a sight.