I am often having this discussion.

At least a million times a week I think to myself: I am not having this discussion, usually in the midst of said discussion.  Tonight's tete-a-tete revolved around "jamas," specifically the not-wearing/relative yuckiness thereof.  This was 30 minutes after we put him to bed.  For the second time.

"Mama" he calles.

"Ignore it," I whisper to my husband, who is dutifully filling out a survey at our dining room table.  This is how we rock a Saturday night, friends.  

"Maaaaaama" he calls again, "I need to take the 'jamas off!"  

This can't be good.  

I cave.

"What's the matter with your 'jamas?"  I ask him, checking for pee.  

"It's yucky stuff," he responds decisively.  "Yucky stuff."  He points to his footies, which are made to look like tiny polar bear heads.  I know, right?  Adorable!  

I help him take his legs out of the 'jamas.  We examine the polar bears together.  "See?"  I say, "Not yucky.  Those are polar bears."

"I want to wear dinosaur 'jamas," he parries.

Time to negotiate.  

"I will get you dinosaur 'jamas," I nod, "but you HAVE to go to sleep as soon as we get them on.  It's time for sleep."  Apparently we have a deal, but OH NO!  I can't find the dinosaur 'jams.  Ever the quick-thinker, I grab a shirt with an airplane on it.  "Look how cool!"

It is, apparently, NOT that cool.

Oh, but it is!  Let's put it on!

He counters with an exuberant downward facing dog, and a farted dismount.  

Touche.

"I want the polar bear 'jamas."  

Sigh.

Polar bears it is.  I am halfway to the dresser.

"No mama, no mama!  I want the airplane shirt!"

It is 9:30 on a Saturday night.  

I am not having this discussion.