Mom Jeans

I love to put my toddler boy in jeans because he looks so adorable in them, just like a tiny man. My heart actually skips a beat when he’s in his jeans, polo shirt and adidas shoes like he just wandered out of the country club after playing tennis and having an Arnold Palmer and turkey club. The problem with putting him in jeans is that his mobility is restricted. His strides are shortened significantly, he walks around almost like a penguin. When he tries to get onto his little baby motorcycle (melt my heart a little more) his leg can barely make it over the seat so I have to lift him on to it and off of it, which is annoying since he will want to do this over and over for... the rest of time. Whenever we get home from our outings, I have to take his pants off so he can roam around and play freely without needed assistance. He likely associates home with stripping down to his diaper.

This limited mobility is how I feel when I try to squeeze into all these mom jeans I bought in attempt to get cute ass high waist pants. I am trying to attain a sexy look, but all the pants I am trying to get into make me look like I am carrying around an inner tube  under my waist. Today was probably not a good day to try and tackle this task because I had two bowls of Chocolate Malted Crunch for lunch (I shared with my kids, but to be honest I can eat 8 tremendous bites by the time they get one tiny spoonful to their mouth, so that doesn’t negate many calories) and I started my flowjo. Flowjo came on completely unexpected, a week early, because I am a period interloper and hung out with my hormonal cousin on Monday and jumped right onto her cycle. I should have known this would happen because we were having the greatest time and pumping ourselves up for the week, but the next morning when I woke up I had fire burning in me, and wanted to see head rolls. That afternoon my period came and I took a sigh of relief knowing that I didn’t actually hate everyone, and want to kidnap my kids and book the next flight to Berlin where we can sell sequin embellished t-shirts in the streets.

I am probably going to have to cough up the 100 buck and get the 1981 high waisted black skinny jeans from Guess because they are exactly what I am looking for. If I loose ten pounds maybe my mom jean collection will look better on me. I am not too optimistic since dropping 10 pounds will only decrease my chances of not passing out when wearing them for long periods of time. My butt is like unreal in these things! It reminds me of Ace Ventura, “Would you care for a breath mint?” It has a mind of its own back there. Forget about embroidering the word “Juicy” on this derriere. No words needed, this butt is basically speaking for itself, and it’s saying, “give me some air!!!”