Ritual of Motherhood Means Buying a New Nightgown

After eating, we decided to take a walk and look in the stores around the restaurant before going home.
The display in one shop caught my eye. Suspended from the ceiling was a silk and lace negligee, and hanging next to it was its companion morning jacket.
"Look at that nightie," I said to my friends, "Isn't it something?"
"Yes," they agreed it was. "Why don't you go in and try it on?"
"I don't think so," I laughed. "It doesn't look like something suitable for making the kids' cinnamon toast and cereal."
The outfit reminded me of something one would buy if she were planning to have a love affair in Paris or Rome, or if she played the part of the conniving other woman on a soap opera. Since neither of these circumstances was likely to occur, we continued walking.
As much as I would enjoy having something that pretty and bold in my wardrobe, I don't. The only time I buy nightgowns is when I'm going to the hospital to have a baby, which is a fairly regular occurrence for me.
Once again, my long-awaited delivery date is near, which puts me in the market for a new hospital ensemble.
After a woman gives birth, a nightgown is the first clothing she puts on that doesn't resemble the "awnings" she's been draping herself with for the last several months.
Although her figure doesn't spring back quite as quickly as a television mother's, it is a lot closer to its original form once mom and baby part company.
Therefore, it is necessary to celebrate by wearing something extra pretty when receiving compliments on the beautiful child she has produced. At least, I think it is.
So what should I get? I would like to buy something frilly and feminine like the ensemble I saw in the store window last summer, but that wouldn't be appropriate hospital wear. However, what I see in the stores that would be appropriate is so boring and unflattering.
Before I have a baby, I go on a search for just the right mix of appropriateness and style. It also has to fit.
The other day, accompanied by nine-year-old Maureen, I went on one of these shopping outings. We started going through the racks.
"How about this one?" Maureen asked as she picked out a filmy gown. "It's pretty."
"Yes, it is ... but I don't think so," I answered.
Her next offering was reminiscent of a cancan girl's outfit. I imagined the looks I would receive from the nursery room nurse when she carried the baby into my room for a feeding.
No, the feeling I want to convey is Madonna-like (I'm referring to the Blessed Mother, not the singer), with glamorous overtones. Looking like a dancer in the follies wouldn't project that image. I hung up the red and black gown.
"Let's look over here:' I pointed to another rack.
"This one is nice," I said as I held up a simple yellow number with flowers embroidered on it ''They also have it in white and in pink. Which one should I get?"
"Get the pink one, then for sure we'll have a girl and we can name her Maureen Jr.," my daughter said, cringing at the thought of having a fifth brother.
"Well, I haven't had anything in yellow in a while - maybe I'll get the yellow one. But it's pretty in white, too."
"We'll have a contest," Maureen decided as she grabbed the three sleepshirts from me and began her selection process. "No, my feet are swelling and they hurt. Let's leave," I said.
"Here, take off your shoes," Maureen said, and before I could object I was standing barefoot after Maureen swept the shoes off my feet. I did feel a lot better, so I kept looking. This may have been a mistake, because I ended up buying three nightgowns, the pink one Maureen wanted, a blue one in case the baby is a boy, and yellow one because I liked it. Now I'm all ready, except for outfitting the baby's crib. Pink, blue, or yellow?
August 27, 1986