Peterkins Pyjamakins

[Bertha]

Dear Nanny Smackbottom

Please accept my thanks for your help in turning my pathetic husband Peter into a delightful little Babykins. I have followed your advice and am writing to update you on our progress.

At 5pm exactly I run his bath and lay out his pyjamas. Last night he wore the yellow bunny rabbit pyjamas that you thoughtfully provided the pattern number for. It didn't take my mother long to sew them and three other pairs.

His bath time has become a particular favourite of mine as we develop his babification. I so enjoy making him splutter as he moans about soap in his eyes and mouth. I ensure the water is cold as I step him in. He used to complain about all the hot water I used, so I find it very amusing to hear him complain as I bathe him in cold water each afternoon. Needless to say this is most disconcerting for him, particular when I pay close attention to his dangly bits. How he cries as I ensure all is scrupulously clean down below by scrubbing everything robustly. I always enjoy rinsing the baby shampoo off his head by pouring copious jug fulls of cold water over his head. It is most satisfying as he gasps for breath as I tell him. "Now, now, we must learn to save the hot water mustn't we?"

His new name is Peterkins Pyjamakins. It was great fun deciding upon it, especially as he selected it himself. Your advice to pretend to involve him in decision making is quite genius. Each of us devised a name and, as you advised, we put them into a hat and made him "choose" his own baby name. Peter Pee-pee-pants and Peter Lollipops were mine and my sister's suggestion, but it was my mother's brilliant,
Peterkins Pyjamakins that thankfully, came out of the hat. (His baby bonnet actually).

At first he was quite reluctant to answer to his baby name, but luckily my mother spent twenty minutes with him draped over her lap while she persuaded him otherwise. Mother only has to take off one of her pink, furry slippers and he rushes into my arms, fearful of a smacked bottom. "Is Peterkins Pyjamakins fwightened of Mrs Slipper den?" She will tease, laughing as he clings babyishly to me while she brandishes her slipper mischievously.

My sister Susan never misses a chance to tease him either. She called at around 5.30 last night, when of course she knew he would be about to be dressed for beddybyes. I always select two pairs of ridiculously babyish pyjamas, on this occasion his yellow bunny rabbit ones and his pale blue, teddy bear ones. "Now then Peterkins," I began to tease, "tell Aunty Susan which pair of jimmy-jams you want to put on for beddy-byes." Of course he doesn't want to wear the ridiculously infantile creations at all, which of course is the most entertaining thing for us. Susan continued to tease him mercilessly. "Come along Peterkins Pyjamakins, what's it to be, bunnies or teddies?"

He knows he must eventually answer or suffer the consequences of Mrs Slipper so, with his eyes fixed firmly on the floor, he eventually mumbled, "bunnies please Aunty Susan." Susan smiled sweetly at Peterkins as she picked up the yellow bunny rabbit pyjamas, "Oh what an excellent choice, let Aunty Susan help you put them on." Peterkins stood compliantly as Susan buttoned and stepped him into his pyjamas and slippers.

He was perched on Susan's knee as my mother came bustling in, at once she appraised the situation and entered into the spirit of humiliating her son-in-law. "Oh look at the ickle baby in his pwetty jim-jams all weddy for beddy-byes, whoever could it be? Tell nanny what your name is sweetheart?" She teased. He swung his slippered feet nervously as he sat squirming on Susan's knee and turned beet-root red but mother was prepared to persevere until she received the response she wanted.

Answer nanny, or I shall have to fetch Mrs Slipper won't I?"
"Peterkins," he mumbled. "Oh dear, nanny knows you can do better than that. Let's try again shall we?" His eyes flickered from me to my mother, as Susan jiggled him on her knee. "Mummy can't help you sweetheart, now, loud and clear, tell nanny what your name is." My pathetic, diminutive, puny husband, shuffled his feet nervously before taking a deep breath and stuttered. "P- p- p- p-please nanny, my name is P-Peterkins P-Pyjamakins."

The three of us howled with laughter while my husband became very tearful, head bowed and looking very foolish and babyish wearing his bunny rabbit pyjamas and slippers. After he kissed and waved night-night to Susan and mother, and they have fussed over him one last time, adjusting his pyjama bottoms and smoothing down his pyjama jacket collar, I take him up to bed at 6pm. Of course at first he was upset at having to go to bed at 6pm, but I was able to cure him of that.

One evening, despite going across mothers knee, Peterkins was still having a noisy tantrum about going to beddy-byes. I decided to tether him to the washing line by putting his baby reins over his teddy bear jim-jams and sat him on his baby rug. Peterkins had nowhere to hide, and once Miss McPherson our neighbour spotted him over the garden fence and decided to have a little chat with him about how sweet he looked in his jim-jams and how she would love to baby-sit him, there has been hardly a murmur of objection about his strictly enforced bedtime. If there ever is a tantrum brewing about bedtime, I only have to say, “shall I fetch your baby reins and sit you out in the garden?” The mere threat is enough judging, by the look of terror in his face and he subsequently toddles meekly off to beddy-byes, as all good little Babykins should.

Before I tuck him into bed, I pin him into his night time nappies. Since you recommend two baby bottles of milk before bedtime, it has become essential that he is securely nappied and protected with rubber pants. it has taken plenty of smacked legs and botties, not to mention tears, for Peterkins Pyjamakins to come to terms with the fact that he must wear nappies for bed. It is now that I like to remind him about how useless he was as a husband when I am putting him into his nappies. "Whose got a tiny ickle willy den," I mock, as I clean him and apply cream. "Peterkins weally is a little babykins isn't he?" Initially he would become angry at my teasing, but now, as he has become accustomed to his status, he stares at me with his doleful eyes, his dummy bobbing frantically in and out, in and out.

I now buy his infantile plastic baby pants from the specialist shops you find online, yes, more expensive than the plain, adult ones from incontinence suppliers but they are much more humiliating with their pretty infantile patterns. Besides it is his money that pays for all his baby things.

Just like I do with his pyjamas, I select two pairs of baby pants and make him choose which pair to wear. Many times I have presented Peterkins Pyjamakins to my Bridge Club ladies when he is already dressed for bed. They always fuss over him and admire his bedtime attire and when I announce that he has chosen his baby pants and jim-jams all by himself he blushes as they tell him what a clever Babykins he is.

As you so rightly said, Peterkins has greatly benefited from a regular, early bedtime. He sleeps in his own little bedroom. Nursery rhyme paper decorates the walls and, apart from a soft pink carpet, there is only a small child's bed and a chair that I sit on to read him his bedtime story. The curtains are heavy blackout ones and completely prevent any chink of daylight intruding once he is in bed.

Before I put him down for the evening he must have his mittens securely tied on. Mother knitted them for him from very soft lambs wool. He has two pairs, a pretty pink pair and a pale yellow pair. I chose the yellow pair this time to match his jimmy-jams. We decided he required mittens when I discovered tell signs of nocturnal activity on his nappies. Of course he denied any culpability, but the mittens ensure he is quite unable to pleasure himself whilst in beddy-byes.

Once he is safely tucked into bed, I pin the ribbon attached to his dummy to his pyjamas and pop the dummy back into his mouth. These day's he accepts it quite readily and there is no need to tie it in place any more. I tuck his dolly, Flora Frillikins, in beside him and spend ten minutes reading from his book of bedtime stories that my mother thoughtfully bought for his birthday. Then it's lights out and off to sleepy-byes for Peterkins Pyjamakins.

With your permission I will give you another update soon.

Mrs Amelia Harecourt