Skinny Jeans and I have a love-hate relationship. That being when I’m skinny, I love them and when I’m not, well… I not only hate them but hate people who can wear them well and wish they didn’t exist (skinny jeans – not the people in them. I’m not that crazy!)
About 5 years ago, I volunteered to model in a fashion show benefiting a not-for-profit organization. I was rockin’ my 25 year old body that I thought was fat. Yeah… so fat that I got talked into walking the runway in a bikini. I’ve never walked so fast in my life. (Well besides how I currently run from my bathroom to my bedroom in my towel to avoid being seen half “dressed”) Part of the fashion show was modeling accessories like hats, glasses, scarves and purses so all of the models were asked to wear all black. I had been working out hard at the gym every day so was stoked to buy a pair of black skinny jeans in the smallest size I have ever purchased in my adult life. I wore my skinny jeans on my skinny body that I didn’t think was skinny and had a great time at the fashion show.
A little too long away from the gym and some junk food binges later and those black skinny jeans got tighter and then became impossible to even pull up over my butt even when lying down on the bed pulling and flailing like a fish trapped in a net. As seasons came and went and outdated, worn clothing got discarded or donated, those black skinny jeans stayed. Those skinny jeans represented me at my physical prime. The most fit I have been in my life. I am no model and yet I wore those skinny jeans in a fashion show. Those skinny jeans became my goal. I would wear them again. I liked (and sometimes didn’t like) occasionally stumbling across my closet when I looked for something to wear in the morning. Some day I would wear those skinny jeans again. That is my goal. I will know I am in great shape when I can wear those skinny jeans. And I will wear them before they are out of style, dammit.
Fast forward a few years and two babies (delivered in the same year) later to this morning. I am getting ready to go to my youngest sister’s final bridal gown fitting with both of my sisters. My sisters are pretty fashionable. I’ve never been a trendsetter but at one point could at least follow a trend. I’ve lost a bunch of baby weight so decide to forego my usual yoga pants and a tank top (mom uniform) and put on some real clothes. After being pregnant for almost 2 years back to back, my closet is filled with a mixture of outdated clothes, maternity clothes I haven’t had time to put away and lots and lots of clothes that are too small. Feeling overly confident when I come across my black skinny jeans, I decide that I will try them on – not because they will fit but to benchmark how far I still have to go to get my post-baby and burgers body back. I put them on and they fit like a frickin’ glove. Hellloooo ego! I get a little over confident and try to match them with a pre-baby top thinking it might fit too. Nope. Not over my milk-filled boobs but that’s okay. I’m wearing my skinny jeans! My knockers are just bigger but that’s fine. I’m in my skinny jeans. This calls for celebration: I’m wearing heels today!
I come down the stairs and my sister says “Woah! You’re wearing heels…and makeup!” Yes, yes I am! I brag about how I’m wearing my black skinny jeans and explain the fashion show from a million years ago and how I knew I had lost weight but didn’t realize I had lost that much weight. I ramble on until I realize she has tuned me out but I still keep rambling with excitement inside my head. I wear those jeans to the bridal gown fitting appointment, out for breakfast afterwards, home where I tell my husband 5000 times that they fit again! I take my daughter out to Tarjay and proudly strut in my black skinny jeans rather than my usual yoga pants with flip flops. I catch my reflection in the mirror, in the window, in the stove and think “Hot Mama!” every time.
At some point in the evening after the babies are bathed and put to bed and I have about 90 seconds to myself to think and regroup, I suddenly realize that last year when my friends were taking me out for my bachelorette party, I had nothing to wear (after just having my daughter 5 months earlier) I went out and bought a pair of black, skinny jeans. My heart sinks. And so do my shoulders. I slump over to the washroom and pull my pants down for the moment of truth (the dreaded tag bearing the size.) Sure enough, the number showing on the tag is not the lowest size I have ever bought in my adult life. These are the jeans I bought last year, 5 months after my daughter was born. Coincidentally, my son is now 5 months old so I guess I am right on track with where I was a year ago. Bad news: I did not know I was pregnant then. Almost 3 months pregnant in fact with my son. So basically, my skinny jeans victory turned into me fitting into pants I actually wore when I was 5 months postpartum AND 3 months pregnant. In a split second, my pride was shattered. I can’t even explain what made me realize these weren’t the pants I thought they were other than to say that perhaps for a brief second, the haze of mama brain was lifted. Of course! This is when my brain starts functioning: to ruin my skinny jeans day. Not when I’m trying to find where I put the remote control, my car keys or remember why I walked into the kitchen or whether or not I took my vitamin. Ugghh.
I did not look in my closet for the “real” black skinny jeans today. I do not need to put them on now and feel them be as tight as I expected them to be this morning. It’s too soon. Some day skinny jeans. Some day. I must conclude by saying, from 9am -9pm while I believed I was wearing my black, skinny jeans, it was the best. day. ever.
And Baby Makes 3…I mean 4 is a collection of one mom’s adventures trying to survive in this crazy world with 2 babies, 11 months apart. I know I’m not alone. If you liked this post, follow me, leave some love and share your crazy!