How a mother uses her maternal authority to enforce pyjama and early bedtime punishment to infantilise her son

As I began to turn from a child into a young man my mother began to make strenuous efforts to keep me as her “little boy” for as long as she possibly could.

This included continuing to having to wear short trousers at high school long after my contemporaries had moved into long trousers and enduring humiliating early bedtimes that were far to unsuitable for a boy of my age.

As a teenager, I was never sent to bed, but put to bed, usually after a supervised bath time and dressed in childish nightwear. Mum favoured  traditional two piece pyjamas made from brushed cotton material and decorated with the most infantile prints one could imagine.

One of my most enduring memories is of attending my cousin Emily’s birthday party when I was fourteen, she was the same age as me but attended the posh all girls academy. There were a few of her school friends present as well as my other cousins Millicent and Kevin,  the only other  male there was Peter her neigbours son who was a year older than the rest of us and he was in charge of playing the records and trying, like the rest of us to look cool.

This was in 1974 and I was busy trying my best to fit in with the ‘in crowd’ when at 7:30 pm Mum summoned me upstairs where she and my aunts had been “keeping an eye” on us and instructed me to change into the pyjamas and slippers that she had packed before we left home so that I could be “popped into bed” on our return home.

Of course I was absolutely horrified at this proposal and tried my best to protest and begged her not to make me wear my pyjamas at the party. I turned to my aunt for support but she only shrugged and said  it was up to my mother although I could tell she really disapproved of mums actions. My protests turned to tears when I saw which pair of pyjamas mum had bought with her.  Mum was brandishing my pale blue pyjamas with pictures of rocket ships blasting off, I hated wearing them as they made me look about six. Mum was not to be argued with and I was quickly made to put on the pyjamas from hell and my slippers. I was so humiliated  as I re-entered the front room where the party was being held and tried to hide away from everyone. My aunty actually made things worse by saying, “oh he looks so cute doesn’t he.”

Most of the  kids tried to stifle their laughter but Peter kept making comments like “bedtime for baby is it?” I could feel pitying gazes from some of the others and one of the other mothers who came to collect their daughter did try to intervene on my behalf but Mum was not for turning.

I was so ashamed as we were driven home by my aunt. I sat in the back between Millicent and Kevin with my head bowed hoping that no one else would get to see me wearing my  rocket ship pyjamas. Millicent and Kevin were respectfully silent throughout the journey,  no doubt thinking better him than us while my mother sat in the front chatting away seemingly oblivious to my distress. When we finally arrived home I went straight up to my room and slammed the door, putting myself to bed early.

I had  a definite bedtime until my mother considered that I had reached

maturity as an adult at twenty one after which I was left to make my own

decisions but until that time I would be subject to her rules which included

humiliatingly being put to bed at an excessively early hour and attired in

my childish nightwear even when I had left school and started my first job.

It didn’t matter who was in our house, or who may be visiting, the routine

was always pretty much same. At 6:30 pm, later when I started working,

Mother would say” time to get ready for bed now poppet” and I would know

better than to argue with her though I did try on several occasions and subsequently

ended up over her knee for a painful reminder that I was still, “her little boy” and whilst I was living under her roof I would obey her rules.

So the early evening routine would begin with me taking my nightly bath

before being dressed by Mum in my pyjamas and then having half an hour

”downstairs quiet time”, before taken upstairs and tucked into bed at 7:30, this

was bearable if there was only my mum or other relatives who were used

to my early bedtime treatment around, but occasionally there would be other

people that might drop by to visit my mother to talk about Church

activities- jumble sales etc, and they would be amazed to see a fifteen year

old boy dressed in babyish pyjamas being put to bed by his mother at 7:30 in the evening.

This on occasion turned even more humiliating. Mrs Lewis always brought her children with her when she visited mum. Caroline who was the same age as myself and her younger brother Clive who was only ten. They always came just as I was being bought downstairs in my pyjamas before I was put to bed. Caroline was in the same year as me at school but not in my class. I had a bit of a crush on her but even then I knew my chances with her were nil once she had witnessed me wearing my red paisley winceyette pyjamas that were a size too big for me and then having to wish her “night-night” as mum ushered me upstairs to bed at 7.30.

It was a constant feature of my childhood and teenage years that mum believed that children should be treated like children and not pandered to as small adults, and this attitude was reflected not just in early bedtimes but in the choice of clothes she thought it appropriate for me to wear. Mother abhorred the liberal fashions of the 60’s and 70’s and disliked the habit of dressing boys in jeans and tee shirts declaring it to be “far too American” and so attired me in much more traditional and what she thought ‘suitable’ children’s clothes.

This entailed all kinds of outfits for different situations, for example the bane of my life when I was around ten- twelve years old was the hated short trousered “sailor suit” worn on Sundays to attend church and to go visiting relatives for Sunday lunch.

This consisted of a light cotton Navy blue smock like top with yellow piping around the cuffs with a large satin droopy bow on the front and big shiny buttons. Matching short trousers with a broad waistband with mother of pearl buttons was worn to complete the sailor suit element but in addition I was made to wear white knee or ankle socks that were always paired with girlish white sandals.

When I was eleven and about to start secondary school I begged mother not to make me wear this ridiculous outfit in public anymore and  indeed I would do anything to avoid wearing it even once complaining to her that my legs were freezing cold. This backfired wildly when she then purchased two pairs of white tights (one pair kept in her handbag as spare) and made me wear them with my short trousers to church and to go visiting the very next Sunday.

As you can imagine this made me the object of some curiosity, even among those who were used to seeing me in my “Sunday best.” Some of Mothers friends cooed and billed over me after the service saying things like “doesn’t he look sweet” whilst the other children mostly sniggered and pointed, the men however shook their heads and looked sympathetically at me as if to say ‘poor kid’. one of the worst aspects of this was being laughed at by boys much younger than myself who were all wearing long trousers and dressed “normally” My father eventually intervened on my behalf and gently persuaded Mother that I was perhaps too old now for this particular style of outfit, but as he worked abroad for nine months of the year as a petro-chemical engineer his influence was fairly minimal.

My usual attire during school holidays and weekends was considerably different to that of most other teenagers of the time. Mother had me dress in what she

infuriatingly liked to call my “rompers” these were like a bib and brace

affair except they were short trousered, and made very wide in the leg,

elasticated at the back of the waist. They had no side pockets or fly and

embarrassingly the shorts were so wide that they looked almost like a skirt,

these would be worn over a shirt or blouse in summer with sandals and white

ankle socks, or over a jumper in winter with knee socks or on occasion

tights. Mother made these herself adapting the pattern from a from a pair of

similar “rompers” she bought on a trip to France when I was about seven,

these were made in various colours, brighter colours in summer and

then later during the year more muted autumnal colours. Mother was a

stickler for coordinated outfits so all rompers, shirts, socks,

tights and sandals, slippers or shoes had to match accordingly. Christmas and special occasion outfits were excruciating and I complained bitterly and

often about having to wear what I considered to be such babyish clothes but

Mother said, “on no account would she permit me to dress like a hooligan” and that

I was “still a little boy” and would wear what she thought suitable.

However, when I was almost sixteen mother went out to visit my father and I was left with my Aunt for most of the school holidays

I know that Mother had reservations about leaving me in the care of my

 Aunt, considering her to be far too permissive with their own

children but in reality she had no choice. After warning me about my behaviour,

and asking my Aunt not to let me stay up too late she bade her

farewells. Aunt Cheryl took me upstairs to the spare room. She tutted as she unpacked my childish rompers in various pastel shades and the pairs of white ankle socks, and knee socks. But when she saw my four pairs of infantile pyjamas especially the teddy bear pyjama she sighed and sat me down. Now Aunt Cheryl was familiar with the manner

in which Mother preferred me to dress but she asked if I had any long trousers or any normal boys pyjamas at all.

“I don’t think you’ll be needing any of this stuff while you’re staying

with us” and she called to my cousin and said “Steve, can you go through

your stuff and see if you can sort out some togs for Leigh?” Steve said

”sure” and I followed him to his room where he began picking out stuff he

thought I might like, twenty minutes later for the first time in my life I

was dressed like a normal teenager of the time, tee-shirt, blue jeans,

and baseball boots, Mother would have been horrified, but I loved it, and

the clothes that I had brought with me were consigned to the corner of the

room for the remainder of my stay.

The rest of the summer holiday’s were a complete departure from my from my

usual routine, I stayed up late with Steve and Cathy watching TV that I had only ever heard other kids talk about at school. I was savouring every moment of my new found freedom with Steve and Cathy and their friends. However Mothers imminent return was a

cloud on the horizon but  Aunt Cheryl said she was going to

talk to Mother and assure her that I had been perfectly well behaved, and

see if she might be persuaded to be a little more lenient in her treatment

of me.

The morning finally came when Mother arrived from the airport and I was a bundle of nerves not knowing what her reaction would be to my new attire, but on arrival she said not a word about my tee-shirt and jeans, happily relaying the story of her trip to everyone, showing

photographs, and distributing presents and souvenirs to my cousins, and

thanking them for looking after me, but now it was time to go home, so I

reluctantly bade my farewells to my Aunt and Cousins.

Mother said she was very tired from the flight and was a bit jet lagged and

asked me to go upstairs and run the bath which I did and returned downstairs

to watch TV. Mother busied herself in the kitchen making some tea and

sandwiches, after about fifteen minutes she said “your bath will be

overflowing if you are not careful dear”, I was confused... “my bath?, I

thought it was for you?” I replied, “no darling it’s been a very long day

and I want you in bed early tonight”, I looked at the living room clock..

”but Mum it’s only just gone half past five.” ...”please don’t argue with

me” she said, “I’m very tired and I need to go bed for a while, and I am

certainly not going to leave you down here getting up to heaven knows what

on your own, upstairs now please and have your bath, you can come back

downstairs in your pyjamas for a while and have something to eat before you go to bed.”

“Bbbb..but Mum” I stammered “I’m almost sixteen this is ridiculous!”

“I won’t ask you nicely again” she said in a sterner tone of voice... “I can

see that you have become quite the little rebel in my absence, now do as I

say or I will be forced to spank you,... Is that what you want?” ..I began

to protest once more but Mother advanced across the room and slapped the

back of my legs, I was so shocked that I did not protest any further and

hurried upstairs smarting with humiliation rather than pain, “And don’t even

think of locking the bathroom door!,” she shouted after me, adding that she

would be up shortly, and that she had not finished with me yet, I heard her

mount the stairs with growing trepidation as I sat in the bath waiting for

the consequences of my defiance, Mother put her head around the door, and

told me to get out of the bath and dry off then come to her room, I put a

towel around me and did as she asked, and there was Mother with  a

a pair of her pink floral winceyette pyjamas draped over her arm and a matching pair of pink fur lined slippers.

“Right get these on,” she said advancing toward me holding out the pyjama jacket. I backed away and the towel fell away leaving me naked before her. This gave her the chance she needed and I was being buttoned into the jacket before I knew what was happening. In a daze I stepped into the pyjama bottoms as she bent low, she pulled them up roughly and settled them around my waist.

She then threw the slippers at my feet. “Slippers on, then downstairs, no dawdling,” she commanded. This was indeed a bitter pill to swallow after my recent liberating experiences. Now here I was, almost sixteen wearing pink floral pyjamas with a ruffled around collar and cuffs and girlish pink slippers.

With my Mother giving me a lecture before an imminent bedtime, “I had

thought” she said “to allow you more adult privileges when you reached your

sixteenth birthday, but I can see that might be a mistake. I should never have left you with Aunt Cheryl I should have known her progressiveness   would bring out the worst in you and I can see that I’m going to have to take a very firm line with you, I will think about that, and tell you what I have decided tomorrow”.

I was ordered to bed with the clock showing six fifteen. I lay in bed trying to sleep in my pink pyjamas whilst still daylight outside, and the sound of much younger children with their bedtimes many hours away playing happily in back gardens and the nagging worry of what Mother might decide would be her ‘ very firm line’.