The Only Infant Jumpsuit Guide You Need

It was 3:14 AM on a Tuesday, and I was crying in a nursing bra that smelled intensely like sour milk and desperation. Leo was exactly four days old. My husband, Dave, was hovering unhelpfully in the nursery doorway holding a lukewarm cup of coffee that I desperately wanted to throw at his head, mostly because he was wearing comfortable matching sweatpants and I was wearing mesh hospital underwear and a pad the size of a snowboard. Anyway, the point is, I was trying to change Leo's diaper, and he was wearing this absolutely absurd, heavy, nautical-themed three-piece outfit that my aunt had sent us. It had suspenders. Suspenders on a 7-pound floppy potato who couldn't even hold his own neck up.

He was also wearing separate little rigid pants with a stiff waistband that was digging directly into his crusty, horrifying umbilical cord stump. I was fumbling with tiny, stiff metal snaps, my hands literally shaking from sleep deprivation, and Leo was screaming like I was actively torturing him. It took me twelve minutes to get the pants off, change the diaper, and try to get the pants back over his furiously kicking little frog legs. Total nightmare.

That was the exact moment I realized that whoever designs newborn clothes clearly hates mothers. I took the sailor outfit off, threw it quite literally into the hallway (Dave dodged it), and swore a blood oath right then and there. No more separate pants. No more complicated outfits with collars. Just soft, full-body cotton coverage until he was old enough to complain about it.

The pants delusion and the umbilical cord

Before you've a baby, you walk into a store and you see these miniature denim jeans and little cable-knit sweaters, and your pregnancy hormones trick you into thinking, oh my god, I'm going to dress my child like a tiny, stylish accountant. It's a trap. If you want to preserve whatever shred of sanity you've left, just accept that your baby is going to live in full-body cotton sacks for the first three months of their life and aggressively donate any tiny denim you receive.

I guess the fashion world or whatever calls them one-piece sleepwear or full-body infant suits, but in our house, we just called them "the uniform." You want something that covers them from their little double chin all the way down to their toes, because newborn socks are a massive scam invented by Big Sock to make you feel like you're losing your mind when you find one inside the washing machine rubber seal and the other one literally never appears again in this dimension. Footed one-pieces. That's it. That's the whole list of what you need.

Plus, separate pants are just dangerous to a healing belly button. That cord stump is the grossest thing you'll ever deal with, and it needs air, not a thick elastic band rubbing against it every time they breathe. Just thinking about it makes my stomach turn.

Dr. Aris and my intense fear of baby roasting

When I had Maya three years later, I thought I had it all figured out. We were living in this incredibly drafty apartment in Chicago, and because I was drinking maybe four cups of coffee a day just to survive, my anxiety was basically vibrating at a high frequency. I was terrified she was going to freeze to death in her crib. So I bought all these thick, fuzzy polyester fleece sleep outfits. They looked like she was wearing a Muppet.

But then at her two-week checkup, our pediatrician, Dr. Aris—who had this very calming, low voice that honestly made me want to ask him to adopt me—felt the back of her neck and told me she was sweating. Sweating! He said something about how baby skin is like, 30 percent thinner than ours? I think? Or maybe they just can't keep stable their own body temperature because their nervous systems are basically still in beta testing. I don't know the exact science. Anyway, he looked me dead in the eye and said overheating is a huge risk factor for SIDS, which obviously sent my postpartum anxiety into the absolute stratosphere. Oh god.

He told me I needed to abandon the synthetic fleece immediately because it traps heat and doesn't breathe. He gave me this rule that I still use today: just dress the baby in exactly what I'd wear to be comfortable in the room, plus one thin layer, and to make sure it was a natural, breathable material so her paper-thin skin wouldn't suffocate. So out went the Muppet suits. I became completely obsessed with organic cotton.

The great fastener debate that nearly ended my marriage

Let me talk about snaps for a second. Snap buttons on baby clothes are the devil's handiwork. There's literally nothing worse than being half-blind at 4 AM, trying to align 15 metal snaps up your screaming baby's body, getting all the way to the top, and realizing you're one snap off. You have a weird, gaping leg bubble. You have to undo all of them and start over while your husband snores softly in the other room. It's soul-crushing.

Meanwhile, magnetic closures are fine if you want your baby's clothes to stick to the inside of your washing machine drum forever, I guess.

I used to be a strict two-way zipper loyalist, but zippers can get really wavy and weird after a few washes, and they bunch up right under the chin. This is where I've to confess my deep love for the Baby Romper Organic Cotton Footed Jumpsuit with the front pockets. I was incredibly skeptical of buttons, mostly because of my snap trauma, but this specific one-piece from Kianao completely changed my mind with Maya. First of all, the organic cotton is so ridiculously soft it almost feels like water, and it has this tiny bit of stretch—5% elastane, I checked the tag like a total nerd—so when you're trying to bend their stiff little frog legs into the leg holes, you aren't fighting the fabric.

I had it in the Pale Turquoise color, and Maya practically lived in it. The full-length buttons are large enough that my fumbling, tired fingers could actually work them in the dark, and they lay totally flat across her chest. Plus, the integrated feet meant I didn't have to deal with the aforementioned sock crisis. The fabric is totally chemical-free, which gave me so much peace of mind after the Dr. Aris lecture about baby skin permeability. I literally sobbed when she finally grew out of the 6-9 month size. It's just... perfect.

Things that require going over a floppy head

I'll say this: not all baby clothes are created equal, even the organic ones. Like, Kianao also makes this Organic Cotton Baby Sleeveless Bodysuit. And look, it's beautifully made. The organic cotton is top-notch, and it has those envelope shoulders which are supposed to make it easy to pull down over the body when there's a diaper blowout so you don't get poop in their hair. It's totally fine as a base layer in the heat of summer.

But honestly? I hate it for a brand new infant. Anything that requires me to wrestle their tiny, fragile arms through armholes while their unstable head lolls around like a drunken sailor gives me massive anxiety. Save the sleeveless stuff for when they're like, six months old and actually have some neck control and chunky thighs. Until then, stick to the full-coverage stuff that opens entirely down the front so you can just lay them in it like a hot dog in a bun.

Accessories that don't make me want to scream

When you've them safely contained in a nice breathable footie, you still need to put them on the floor sometimes so you can drink your cold coffee in peace for five consecutive minutes. But the floor is hard and gross, even when you literally just vacuumed, which is why I used to throw down the Organic Cotton Baby Blanket with Squirrel Print. It's massive—like 120x120cm—and double-layered, so it's thick enough to be a barrier between Leo and the dog hair that accumulates in the corners of our living room.

It's also lightweight enough that I could use it as a stroller cover without worrying he was suffocating in a heat tent. The squirrel print is weirdly charming without being obnoxiously brightly colored, which is rare. You can check out more of their organic baby clothing and accessories here if you're trying to build a stash of things that won't irritate their incredibly delicate, sensitive newborn skin.

Let's talk about the hood situation

I don't know who needs to hear this, but DO NOT buy sleepwear with hoods attached to it. Or little strings around the collar. Or random 3D bear ears on the back that make it impossible for them to lie flat on their back without their spine being out of alignment. Dr. Aris literally took a pair of medical scissors to a hooded sweater someone gave us once and cut the drawstring out right in the exam room. He was just like, "This is a strangulation hazard, Sarah." Cool. Cool cool cool. Let's just add that to the running list of things keeping me awake at night.

Just buy smooth, flat, simple clothing. They're sleeping 16 hours a day. They don't need to look like miniature lumberjacks or bears. They just need to be comfortable and alive.

If you're currently staring at a pile of complicated, scratchy, overly-designed outfits that you received at your baby shower and feeling a rising sense of panic in your chest, take a deep breath. Bag up the stiff denim and the suspenders, hand them off to a donation center, and stock up on a few high-quality, ultra-soft footed one-pieces that will actually let you and your baby get some much-needed rest.

Some messy answers to your panic-googled questions

How many one-piece sleep outfits do I genuinely need for a newborn?
Honestly, like seven to ten. You think you can do laundry every day, but you can't. You will be too tired to move your own limbs, let alone transfer wet clothes to the dryer. Babies spit up constantly, and sometimes they poop up their own backs. Having enough to survive a 48-hour period of rolling bodily fluid disasters without doing laundry is the sweet spot.

What do I put under a full-body newborn suit?
Nothing! Just the diaper. That's the beauty of it. Unless you live in an ice box, a good quality organic cotton one-piece is totally fine on its own. Adding layers underneath just makes diaper changes harder and increases the risk of them getting too hot. Keep it simple.

Is fleece bad for babies at night?
According to my pediatrician and my own trauma, yes. Fleece is basically spun plastic. It doesn't breathe. When babies get hot in fleece, the sweat gets trapped against their skin, they get cold and clammy, and then they wake up screaming. Stick to natural fibers like organic cotton or merino wool.

Why does my baby scream when I change their clothes?
Because they're naked and the air is cold and they literally just spent nine months floating in a warm, dark, 98-degree jacuzzi. It's totally normal for them to hate being changed. That's why you want outfits that open all the way down the front. The faster you can get them covered again, the sooner the screaming stops.

Can they sleep in a footed one-piece safely?
Yes, as long as it fits relatively snugly and doesn't have any weird loose attachments, hoods, or strings. A snug, breathable cotton suit is exactly what the safe sleep guidelines think. Just make sure the neck hole isn't so big that it can slide up over their chin.