Shortly after Amelia was born, my jeans were looking good. Through sheer exhaustion and first-time-mommy stress, I was skinnier than I had been in years.
Baby weight? Did not exist in my world.
Or so I thought.
It was simply delayed.
Today, my jeans are angry with me. They feel neglected and unloved, living in the bottom drawer, uncomfortably tight around my “mama middle”. My daughter and I graduated 'Infant/Toddler 101' last year and while she is more active than ever, Mama somehow moved into a sedentary phase (with a side of snacking).
My confidence faltered when I succumbed to a new jeans purchase last fall. I dragged my feet from the junior’s section into the grown-up world of pleats and elastic waistbands. No worries – I did not go that far. I did, however, succeed in finding two pairs of new jeans that fit well, felt comfortable, and minimized my muffin top.
Designer? Well, no.
But I do not believe I have fallen into the depths of “mom jeans”… yet. And if I have? Please, for the sake of human decency, please pull me aside one day and tell me. I promise not to cry. In front of you.
It is almost fall here, and I will soon dig out those new jeans for their seasonal debut. My old jeans? Are still waiting patiently for me in the drawer, buried underneath more recent (and larger) purchases.
I owe it to myself to get back into those jeans one day. My weight plummeted after the birth of my daughter; I know it is possible.
Don’t lose faith in me, skinny jeans. I will see you again one day. Just give me a little more time.
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The assignment this week was to write a piece – fiction or creative non-fiction – in which jeans play a prominent role.
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