It occurred to me the other day—I wear mom jeans. My mom jeans are not made by Gloria Vanderbilt, nor Jordache… my mom jeans are an updated version. Abercrombie & Fitch circa 1999. Original boot-cut. Light denim color. Comfy fit. And most importantly—a reasonable waistline height.
I almost got rid of these jeans. I was ready to bag ‘em and drop ‘em off at Goodwill. Low-rise, lower-rise, and extreme low-rise were all the craze. My jeans were no longer fashionable. To top that off, A&F and all the other jean brands I loved seemed to be getting smaller and smaller in fit. It seemed like all the jeans were conspiring against me. I looked good and hard at my jeans. Okay, I thought—you’re going to stick with me.
Now they’re my mom jeans. At work and for those nights out, I wear the low-rise (well, as low as I can handle.) I look hip. I look non-momish. I tug my shirt down. I reach behind to check everything’s under cover.
But when I’m on mom duty, I get out my beloved mom jeans. I can bend over in confidence. No crack appearances. No muffin top. I watch my kids. My jeans watch my ass. I love my mom jeans.
What’s something you wear or do that made you realize, “Holy sh*t, I’m a mom!” Other than giving birth, obviously.