My little baby’s pj’s gotta life of their own. Their fluffy, bunny-print legs bounce at all hours. They add the sunshine song to morning’s lips. They pepper the hip with the hop grooving over the goodnight moon. Much sooner than I’d like, my little baby will grow outta her pj’s—a bright blast of upbeat jazz straight into womanly dresses. Then my bunny girl will bound outta the door, and leap into the arms of a loving future. Perhaps then, her adult ambitions will shrink her old pj’s into a distant memory. Bless my baby. Bless her pj’s and the life they long to live.