They weren’t even my favorite jammies but they became my security blanket. Ancient flannel washed to softness and ready to comfort. They came with some froggie slippers that disintegrated years ago. I wore them when I couldn’t stop crying, when I was angry with the myself for waiting so long, when I wanted to hide from the world. I wore them when I was grieving the children I would never have and when I was so angry at God I was unable to pray for help. And I’ve worn them when the light started shining a little again and while pouring over egg donor profiles. I’ve worn these P.J.s every night since I was told that bearing my own genetic children would not be possible. Every night. And a few days as well.
Now springtime weather is creeping in and my froggie jammies are almost uncomfortable. I know I’ll soon have to fold my security blanket away in a drawer for the season. I’m unsure that I’m ready to put away my sadness about having to abandon my own genetics. I’m confident and sure about the donor egg situation but there may always be a tiny piece of me that is missing a child that would have carried my DNA.
When cooler weather rolls around again, I wonder if bringing out these tired jammies will be a painful reminder of what I’ve gone through this winter or if I’ll only remember the comfort they brought me.