fat pants

For Christmas this past year my sister gave me two pairs of fat pants.  This was quite possibly the best gift I have ever gotten.  She told me that after baby number two she had an ah-ha moment when she bought some pants that fit the body she had in that moment, instead of trying to squeeze into her old pants that made her feel bad about her body.  I think that she told me all this while I was eating some sort of chocolate covered nut/carmel/pretzal/toffee, or all of the above (it was Christmas time) and so I declared it genius and couldn't wait to get my very own new fat pants.  She then asked me for my postpartum waist size.

Grub, (I know, awful nickname) I don't think they make pants that big at this store.

I then tried to quantify my body size by saying I'm not like fat fat, just a little fat.  I'm pretty sure I still fit into sizes they sell at the stores.
And so the story goes, Cameron measured her own waist, realized my chub was within range, and found me two amazing pair of jeans.

The first pair, the ones that I wore non-stop for about three months, were a pair of Joes.  They were soft, and broken-in, and didn't squeeze or taunt any of my flesh.  I missed them when they were in the wash, and always felt much better when I woke to find them waiting for me in my closet----like a gentle outstretched hand ready to welcome and love.  They seemed to go with all of my tops and nursing camis; the options and potential were endless.

The other pair were more of a dress jean.  On the way too infrequent date night with Clint, or the occasional dance concert with a friend, these were the fat pants I reached for.  They were a heavier denim, dark wash, perhaps more slimming, really needed to be hemmed, I mean seriously they make jeans for seven foot tall ladies now!!, but did have one serious flaw, the flaw that relegated them to kid-free evenings out, as opposed to the everyday zoo/park/costco pant.  Its what I call the harried mom (plumber) smile epidemicWith the onset of the low-rise pant I am sure we have all witnessed, possibly fallen victim to this problem, but I feel it necessary to make a distinction for some of the moms out there that find their upper bottoms on display:

It is our children's fault.  Not our fault! (raised fist pump) Perhaps the smile that you see is    because our waists' have still not shrunk from pregnancy and our pants stubbornly hang lower than they should.  Not our fault!! Perhaps the smile that you see is because we hold on to a hope that sometime during that particular day a miracle will happen and the said pants will fit.  We are a hopeful bunch!! (arms outstretched) Not our fault!  And perhaps that smile that you see is because even though we wore a longer shirt to accommodate and anticipate the too-low low rise we find ourselves in a situation where one child is playing on non-child friendly piece of construction equipment and the other other child is awkwardly hanging from a hip, and the strategically chosen long shirt that worked so well before our children were in the equation has raised above the muffin top and those damn jeans are dropping lower and lower by the second as we desperately try to preserve the lives of the two children that we are somehow solely responsible for.  Safety first!! (index finger pointed)  Still not our fault!!!

In an alternate universe we would all be extremely well-dressed with perfectly tailored clothes that never bunched, crunched, raised, or puckered.  We would not have four or five different categories of "transitional" clothing that were constantly being rotated to accommodate varying waist sizes.
I must say, after all this drama I now see the beauty and functionality of the mom jean.  Yes your crotch may be a mile long, but at least you can rest assured that you will never show the harried mom (plumber) smile.

When my sister gave me these jeans she prefaced it with you know, you will probably only be in them for a month or so, but even then it is well worth it.  Well, I must admit I was in them a lot longer than a month (ugg getting back after baby number two is much harder), but even now, as they sit in the basement patiently awaiting yet another post-partum day, I think of them with only the best of feelings.  These are the pants that were with me as I transitioned to being a mother of two children----two nap schedules, two bellies to feed, two car-seats to buckle, two diapers to change, two little faces to kiss, and two perfect beings to marvel at.

Baby Kate reigns victorious

To my fat pants and my wise sister that got them:  You have seen me through a lot. Cheers, I love you both.