My sweet baby girl is fourteen months old,
and I still don’t fit into my pre-pregnancy jeans.
Dang, that feels good to say.
I want to start by saying that I’m cheering you moms on that can get back into your jeans. I am. I’m insanely jealous, but I’m cheering you on. Because we’re all in this together.
But I defiantly don’t think we talk about the fact that our bodies are completely different than they used to be enough, which means that it’s ok if we don’t ever fit back into those pre-pregnancy jeans. Because we aren’t defined by a number embroidered on our pants.
I grew a new organ, which helped me grow and house a HUMAN BEING for nine months. My body is different. My hips got wider, my boobs got bigger, my butt got bigger, I saw cottage cheese on my thighs that I had never seen before…but I grew and birthed a healthy beautiful and perfect baby girl.
I decided to go jeans shopping the other day for the first time since Em’s been born. I had picked up a pair of jeans at Target after she was born because I just couldn’t do maternity clothes anymore. But since she’s been here, I haven’t ventured into a store specifically looking for jeans. To be honest, I’ve been wearing jeans with a rubber band around the buttons this whole time.
So I headed to the mall.
I knew going in that I needed to start with a size up from what I used to be. Which I’m honestly fine with. Because, and lets all say this together: I am not defined by a number on my pants.
I went into Lucky first because years ago I had bought a couple pairs of their jeans and they lasted me…well years. I grabbed the size 8 and headed for the dressing room.
I couldn’t even get the buttons close to each other.
I checked the tag to make sure I hadn’t picked up a size 4 on accident.
Nope. That big 8/29 was staring me in the face.
Tears filled my eyes.
I am not defined by a number,
but it sure did feel crappy not fitting into those jeans.
It’s totally shallow, but I wasn’t about to go up any further in sizes there. It just wasn’t worth it to me. Having been a size 6 my whole life pretty much, I’m not sure I would have handled seeing double digits well.
Can we pause for a moment and just all yell out, “WHY CAN’T ALL SIZES BE THE SAME?!” Why is an 8 at one place a 2 at another?!
I’d also like to add that I felt like I couldn’t fit in any less in that store. There I was, hair up in a bun, Indians shirt on, pushing my stroller through the most cramped store on earth, while all the employees stared at me.
I left the jeans in the changing room and headed out.
We strolled into Gap where I couldn’t find a wash that I loved.
Loft had jeans that made me have a huge crotch bulge when I sat down.
And I honest to God gave Hollister a thought but then if an 8 at Lucky didn’t fit, there wasn’t the slightest glimmer of hope for me there.
I left the mall feeling terrible about myself.
It’s hard being a woman you guys. And even more so a mom. When you’re surrounded by fitness Instagram accounts of moms that do nothing but post shirtless selfies, you can get yourself into a big hole. When you’ve got friends that won’t stop bragging about all the weight they lost breastfeeding, you can get yourself into a big hole. While other moms are posting pictures in full make up and hair done, I’m lucky to have gotten in the shower before 4 pm.
Even as I write this, I have that crap feeling in my gut.
Like I don’t do enough.
Like I didn’t breastfeed for long enough.
Like I’m not enough.
But we have to stop.
Moms that still don’t fit into your pre-pregnancy jeans and you’re kids one, or two, or five…we have to stop comparing ourselves to the moms who can.
Our lives are different.
My brain doesn’t wake up thinking, “I gatta work out”, it’s always thinking, “Oh please go back to bed for 15 more minutes”. I’ll take butter over coconut oil every day.
Wine. It’s just a non-negotiable for me.
On crappy days I want to wallow in self-pity with a big bowl of pasta or fried rice.
I am not defined by a number on my jeans.
As far as I know, I’m healthy. I take the kids (dog included here) on a walk every morning. I try to cook at home as often as possible. I also try to get yoga in daily. But I have too many other wonderful things happening in my life right now to worry about what size jeans I bought.
Which are an 8 at Target incase you were wondering.
Target, with the win. Per usual.
So here’s what needs to happen.
I need to quit rolling my eyes when I see other mama friends say they fit back into those jeans. Because I’ll say it again, I am applauding you over here!
But I also think that we’ve become this super workout driven society that almost border line shames people into thinking that if they don’t do it, they don’t fit in.
Do I think we all need to take care of ourselves? Of course.
Do I think I could be doing more to loose weight and be in better shape? Of course.
But this is where I am. And while not every day I feel great about it, I have to realize that I’m making all the choices in my life, which means there’s no one here to blame, or celebrate but me.
So if you fit into those jeans or not.
Because the number on them doesn’t define you.