I love them. I probably have a near fanatical dedication to cotton footed sleepers, but really, what is more cute than a baby in a sleeper? That's right, absolutely nothing.
The issue at hand is cooperation from the third party. The sleeper and I are of one mind; however, the toddler is of another. Apparently, it's far FAR too much to ask to allow oneself to be dried off after a bath (which seems to induce zoomies around the house, just as it does with dogs. hmm) submit to lotioning, diaper creaming, and diapering, and then (throws hand up to forehead in dismay) be expected to lie down in order for a parent to efficiently get a sleeper onto one's body. This really, truly, must have been a favored method of interrogation during the Spanish Inquisition.
This, combined with the fact that the stout little bugger is getting strong and a few sound kicks to the torso really hurt, I think I'll be shelving them soon. Yet another sign that my baby isn't a baby anymore (sob).
In memorandum, a photographic ode to the sleeper:
The First Sleeper. sniffle.
The chillin with Pappy sleeper.
The velvet cheeked newborn sleeper. Squee!
The telling a great story? sleeper.
The being mooned by an adorable little string of cars sleeper.
The Christmas 2009 sleeper
The Dashund sleeper. You know we had one somewhere.
The "How freaking cute is this sleeper?" sleeper. Additionally, how freaking cute is my husband?
The "good morning!" sleeper.
The jelly shielding sleeper.
(The sleeper takes a bow, and exits stage right.)