Tyrolean Lace

I became a customer of Vermont Country Store (and officially middle-aged) when I searched the Internet for sleepwear and found rave reviews for their matronly, but cute, cotton nightgowns. The reviewers said these garments would magically keep you cool in the summer and warm in the winter. That appealed to me as a warm-blooded person who sleeps next to a partner who likes extra blankets and a high temperature on the thermostat. Plus I wanted some easy pajamas that could slide over my head like a poncho and be just about as revealing as one, unlike my top-and-bottom PJ sets that invariably separate over time to show my bulging tummy.

I bought a floor-length "Tyrolean lace" nightgown that is patterned with little red hearts and blue stripes, like the stitching you might see on the bodice of a dirndl. The short, slightly puffy sleeves and neckline are finished with a delicate line of lace trim. I would have hated it when I was around ten years old, or whenever it was that I started thinking it was cool to reject frilly, girly things. But before that turning point, frilly nightgowns are what I remember sleeping in.

I didn't realize when I purchased my new gown that it would call back memories from those days. A few nights ago when I wore it to bed, alone on the king mattress, I lazily turned onto my back and felt the ample cotton fabric spread across and around me like a comforting puddle. Suddenly I was a child again, being tucked into bed by my smiling mother and relishing the secret, sacred feeling of being completely cared for. The lights were dim and I was cozy.

Sometimes I wish for a brief period of incapacity so I could stay reclined in bed, wearing my cotton nightgown, and let someone else take care of me. I don't want to be truly sick, but I would happily submit to a doctor's orders for bed rest due to a mild condition like the vapors. The full cure would involve two days beneath the covers and a complete reprieve from my usual mental load. No minding of my child's schedule, no fretting about the dishes and laundry piling up. No nine-to-five job to which to drag myself. Occasional visits from a caregiver, like my husband or mom, to ensure that I have snacks and drinks and to give my hair a loving stroke before shutting the door softly and leaving me in blissful solitude. I would drift off to sleep at any hour and wake up feeling cool and rested in my Tyrolean lace.