As an adult, I always wondered why I have such an aversion to having my feet covered at night. Could it be the use of a baby strait jacket by my “needs to get my sleep” mother? This adventure that is about to unfold on the written page,was not “Leave it to Beaver” or “Ozzie and Harriet”. Can you say “Nightmare on Drexel Avenue”?
The first question that comes to mind for most normal people is where in the world do you get a baby strait jacket? Once you ponder that question, you begin to realize this was far from normal. Imagine a young mother at the pediatrician’s office complaining about her lack of sleep. How does the conversation go from lack of sleep to “how about purchasing a perfect little torture contraption”?
I believe this entire topic was in what are commonly called “repressed memories” for me for a number of years. Only much later in life was I able to recall that, as a tiny baby, I was put into a strait jacket every night. My mother “needed her sleep” and could ill afford to be bothered with the normal checking on and tending to an infant.
Why Mother “needed her sleep” when she rarely worked outside of the house and usually laid around until 10 or 11 each morning in the years before my sister and I began school is a whole other issue, one that I am for the most part just as happy to leave unanswered.
But to this day I sometimes wonder: How does one get fitted for the correct size? Or do they just have one size fits all and with enough cinching, it works for all babies? It boggles my mind to think this was an acceptable practice. Oh wait, I forgot this is far from normal.