The True* Story of How Low-Rise Jeans Almost Ruined the World

*Not true.  At least probably not true, but I can’t really prove anything and haven’t fact-checked this either.  Just go with it.

While getting dressed this weekend, I smiled dreamily and took in the sweet sound of the angels singing because at long last, those low-slung hip hugger jeans have fallen out of fashion.  If you want to know why, grab a glass of wine and gather ’round, kids.  It’s a cautionary tale of youth and pride…but one that every woman should know.

A few years back, this hot, young and single fashion blogging trend-setter looked at her great bod and said to herself, “Imma show this off a little more.”  She felt that the best way to do this was to dial up the attention paid to her flat stomach and narrow hips.  I mean, I get it; she had it, so why not flaunt it?  She found a pair of vintage ’70s low waisted hip huggers and pulled them on her svelte little legs just in time to snap a picture, post to her site and BAM!  A trend was born.

Anyway, she rode this wave through her engagement to that J. Crew model-looking venture capitalist and in the pictures on their honeymoon low-rise-jeans-for-women-modelto St. Barth’s, she looked AMAZING with tight fitting tops that showed her tanned midriff peeking out above her low-rise jeans.  She kept this up during the first two years of marriage, even as she turned (gasp!) 30 because she went to the gym and did pilates and hot yoga and she and her husband Brock hiked together and ate all the right things and had gobs of money to spend only on themselves…therefore adding to her collection of low rise jeans.  She had it all.

Then one day the greatest thing happened: she got pregnant!  It was amazing.  She was 31 and was going to be the cutest mom to the cutest baby with the cutest husband ever.  She had a great nine months and delivered a healthy baby, just as the first snow fell.  How wonderful, a winter baby!  She swore that during the baby’s naps she would bring it to the gym’s childcare center while she sweat it out on the elliptical and got her post-baby bod back in shape in record time.  It was going to be AMAH-ZING.

Only that didn’t happen.  She was tired and cranky and the thought of spending 20 minutes packing up that baby (plus the 12 bags of crap that went along with it) to trudge out in the snow was simply too much to bear.  Her sports bras didn’t fit anymore thanks to the loaner boobs that being a nursing mom had left her with, so that didn’t help the cause.  Technically she could fit into her workout doritostights thanks to the stretchiness of the fabric (has the guy who invented Lycra been canonized yet, she wondered?) but it wasn’t pretty.  Her hips seemed to have gotten about 10 inches wider when she wasn’t looking, and this was enough to scare her right back into her jammies.  There was a foreign layer of body that seemed to POUR out over the tops of said workout tights, sending her into a fit of tears and running to the pantry where she happily dove headfirst into Brock’s stash of SuperBowl Sunday snacks.  New Mom=1; Doritos=0.

She knew that something had to give and as a lightbulb went off in her head, she knew the culprit: it was the jeans.  They were the devil’s work!  How could she possibly right the ship so as to not muffin-top her way through her 30s?  Wait a minute, she thought, I’m a trend-setter; what if I simply reverse the curse?  Promote a new look that not only celebrates “a real woman’s body” (now that she finally had a real woman’s body) but also hides/contains that layer of skin that had stretched so far outwards but wouldn’t un-stretch back.  One that covers up and contains these foreign hips she now had (seriously, WHEN did those get there?) and shifts the emphasize elsewhere.  This new trend was to be the dawn of a new day, a beacon of hope to all moms out there, and would give them back their style (if not their former physiques)!  She decreed that as of that day, hip huggers were no more and mid- and high-rise jeans were officially back. in.

And that, my friends, is how one brave (and tired and a few-pounds-overweight) woman saved the world.

(Next week – “Yoga Pants: They’re Not Just For Yoga Studios Anymore”)

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Happy 4th Birthday, Little Buddy

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Last Thursday our baby turned four.  FOUR.  It sounds so cliche to say but HOLY HELL does time fly.  It seems like just yesterday I was telling Andy that if he really didn’t want three kids, I would be ok with it…only for him to tell ME that after years being convinced otherwise, he was now on board.

Yes.  That would be our Quinn.

While pregnant with Quinn, I was constantly reminded of my age.  Perhaps it was because I had two other kids to take care of or because it had been over four years since my body had been through this little nine-month roller coaster, but I like to think that it was because the OB nurses LITERALLY reminded me every time I saw them.

“Hi Alex, we’ll need to take some blood again.  Because you’re of advanced age.”

Old and pregnant.  Super.

At 28 weeks along, we had a major scare; Quinn’s heart rate shot through the roof and as we were whisked off to labor and delivery, I’d never been so terrified in my entire life.  Was the baby going to die?  Was I going to die, leaving Andy to raise Ben and Georgia and this preemie?  It was horrible….for both of us.  Although his little heart fixed itself within an hour (apparently babies in utero “can just do that,” WHAAAT?!), it was a very tense last trimester and I knew I wouldn’t feel completely at ease until he was born healthy.

Well, he was.  VERY healthy.  And extremely explosive.

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You see, our baby has been a tornado long before he even existed.  He kept us on our toes while in the womb and hasn’t stopped since.  Labeled a “Happy Spitter” by his pediatrician, he barfed for 10 months straight but never failed to grow.  He spent his first year being passed from one parent to another while his brother played soccer and baseball and served as a kind of mascot for the 9-year old Summer Travel team.  He was treated like a living baby doll by his big sister who, despite her 4 1/2 years, would pick him up every time I turned my back.  He has been loved.

Photo1Of course, as he’s grown up he’s asserted himself into this family (and the world in general) like a tiny dictator when he so chooses.  A typical third child, he’ll bark when he wants something because if he doesn’t, he might not get heard.  He fought me for six months when it came to potty training (I’m forever scarred) but now frequently insists that I come admire his “handiwork.”  And despite a bad back, he can STILL get me to carry him when he wants.

That being said, he’s still the little boy who jumped out of the car with me on the ride home from daycare to admire a rainbow stretching across the afternoon sky.  His excitement upon finding his new Power Ranger Halloween costume was priceless (“IT’S THE BEST THING I EVER SAW!”) and I still can’t help myself from getting one last look at him before I go to sleep.  He has definitely been worth it all.

IMG950101And besides, what other four year old do YOU know who’s poop “looks JUST like a dolphin?”  Kid’s a keeper.