Two pairs of jeans lay limply across my bed this morning, forlornly wrinkled and haphazardly akimbo. They were sharing the misery I was feeling at that moment. The moment where, after much agonizing deliberation, I realized I must give them up and get new ones.
My favorite jeans. They fit me like no other. They are were nice enough for work, good enough for weekend outings, and comfortable enough to curl up on the couch with a good book and not lose circulation in my legs. They have built in “spare tire control”, and are warm when it is cold. They are stretchy and have massive front pockets. They are my go-to when I need a quick pair of pants because I have to open the front door, or go out for groceries. (Pants are optional on a Saturday morning in our house. This is a rule.)
These are the pairs I wore while pregnant, then nursing a newborn. The pairs I wore when I made the excuse that “They’re too comfortable not to wear”, or “I hate buttons on jeans, they are always made of an alloy that my skin reacts to”. I tightened my fingers around the stretchy tube tops and resisted as my husband gently tried to take them from me last year, saying “Maybe its time to get back into real clothes?”. These ARE real clothes, <expletive>.
Today though, I am looking at a frayed cuff on one, and a hole in the tube top and inner thigh on another. The back pocket flaps on one are sticking out like a crumpled flower petal, the buttons holding them down mysteriously absent. These will not make my butt look smaller, like this. The tube top is not as supportive as it once was. My baby-weight-that-is-no-longer-baby-weight shows through that little bit more now. Doh.
I suppose I could march right back to the maternity store and buy a new pair, but it feels wrong. I’m not pregnant, and don’t want to be plan on being pregnant anytime soon. And if I buy another pair, the nasty, vicious voice in my head would tell me that I am just giving myself an excuse to be overweight, and not get back to my fighting trim. But the practical side of me thinks that comfortable jeans, no matter where they come from, makes life easier, and thus, are a good investment, so go back in there and pull those tube topped jeans up to your armpits and dance happily over to the chocolate shoppe nearby.
I am conflicted, and sad, and mourning the loss of two good pairs of jeans that I must replace, especially for work. I love being able to wear jeans to work, our casual atmosphere making it a comfortable place to be myself without having to spend an hour each day primping, fussing, ironing and feeling tied into clothes that itch, bunch, and generally crankify my day. My world revolves around being able to grab and go, and these jeans are a major component of that Mom-life formula.
As I ruffle through the clean laundry in the basket ready to be put away for a decent pair, the figurative lightbulb goes *ding* above my head (or was that the microwave?). I quickly pack my security blankets jeans into a plastic grocery bag and smile. At least, when the seamstress is done with them, I’ll have some comfortable capris for summer.