I had a moment this morning...with my maternity jeans. I am not pregnant, but I put them on and did a dance.
No, really. I did.
I danced in my maternity jeans, with the stretchy panel pulled up to my bosom and shook it like a Polaroid picture. It was organic, spontaneous and stupid. I thoroughly enjoyed it. Here's to gushing over a pair of pants that I wore for moment in history and who didn't judge my rolls.
Me in 2009, 21 weeks pregnant and workin' the pregger jeans.
Ode to Pregger Jeans
Oh, Pregger Jeans, how I adore you.
How I miss your stretchy front panel
Coddling my once bulbous belly.
How I daydream of the days we spent together.
Growing a baby and ingesting horrific culinary combos.
Raisin bran and chicken curry, grapefruit and Oreos.
Unheard of amounts of peanut butter and protein bars
Did I ingest.
Oh, the indigestion that occurred.
Lonely are the days I don't wear you.
How my shrunken belly misses your kind caress.
It's been an cruel two years of conventional jeans.
You never pinched or prodded like your evil twin Regular Jeans.
No ugly indentations on my stomach like "button dent" or "waist ripple".
No muffin tops or bagel bulge to declare.
Only you know how to keep my belly smooth and unwrinkled.
My friends make fun of me, but I don't care.
I'll declare my love for you, Pregger Jeans!
Most women voice their disdain for you.
They hate the vast wind sail you create across their bellies.
But I embraced you.
I secretly wish to wear them everyday.
But now that it is no longer a secret,
I will shout my love for you from a rooftop or tabletop, whichever is nearer.
There is no judging when I wear you.
No applied pressure to my wobbly bits.
Just a stretchy, Spandex-woven tent of acceptance.
Your job was never to conceal or constrict.
Squeeze or contour.
Just to hug and love,
My belly of baby.
Though there's no baby there now,
You still managed to call to me from your perch on high (the closet shelf),
"Once last dance?" you shyly asked.
I put you on for a quick reunion,
Spontaneous and jubilant it was,
Ridiculous and rare.
I danced and sang the words, "I love my pregger pants!"
I swiveled my hips and awkwardly lunged in abandonment.
No fears of ripping the seams or cutting my waist in two.
Wild and free was I.
All to you, comfy, non-judgmental pants.
All to you.
But sadly, now is time to put you away,
Into the Spacebag you go.
Until the time comes to wear you again,
Hopefully with a child in tow.
Love ya, Foodies!
P.S. My four year-old son took the flashy/bad jean advertisement pictures for me. Poor child. I was laughing my butt off, as I realized the absurdity of a four year old child with a camera, hunkered down in the corner of a room taking photos of his crazy mother dancing in some stupid pants. All I can say is that my kids are not going to have the usual childhood memories of eating dirt and dancing in the rain. They will have those plus their mother doing the maternity pants can-can.