Let's face it - I am a big girl. I'm not talking about being a grown-up, or being able to act like one. I'm talking dress and shoe size here. I'm of German stock, the race of people that the Romans referred to as 'giants.' The only time I ever found my shoes located in the middle of the size rack (as opposed to a 'section' of two pair of shoes in the back of the store) was when I was in Germany. And while I am 55 pounds lighter now than I was seven years ago, I am still not a slender gal. And I hate shopping. So I don't have a huge variety of clothing in my closet. And since I am 10 pounds UP from B.T. (Before Transplant), my 'comfy' jeans are snug, and my 'sexy' jeans need those 10 pounds GONE before I can be seated with them in the zipped position.
Hospitals are NOT comfy places. There is no room service coffee for moms and dads. In order for me to get coffee in the morning, I need to get dressed, at least enough so that people don't mistake me for the local homeless.
By chance a few weeks ago I spotted a pair of what might generously be termed 'Yoga pants' on a sale rack at Walmart. They looked to be close to my size and they were two bucks, so I tossed them in the cart. Turns out it was a GREAT move. If I could go back in time I'd grab them ALL.
These babies are the epitome of comfy. And they apparently hang well enough that Babygirl thought I'd bought new pants for work, although I'm not sure they'd pass a grown-up work clothing inspection. I am not embarrassed to appear in public in these (as I would be in jammie pants, although that has not stopped me from going for coffee in them in the early hours LOL). But I only have one pair.
What if Babygirl get sick, and they are in the laundry???
Okay, in the great grand scheme of things I realize that this is so not important. I'm actually laughing as I write this, because I get how precisely silly this is. And then I stop laughing and get a little teary-eyed because I know that it is precisely this silly thing that will make it easier to tolerate the next hospital stay. Little comforts are EVERYTHING when you are locked up in a hospital with your child. The right brand of deodorant. A decent toothbrush. Good quality lotion. Conditioner that smells like the beach, and like home. And pants that pass as adult clothes when you are facing down a group of strange doctors at 6 AM and yet don't strangle you when you reach for a chocolate bar to cheer yourself up afterwards.
There are so few ways to tell people what this journey is like. But it's a lot like this.