skinny jeans | Good Times with Jess

I’m a walking time capsule from 2019. Open my front door and you’ll find me with a stack of skinny jeans, a side part and typing so many 😂😂😂 to make you 😂 or not.

I’m ready to join 2021. I’ve been following the blue jean commentary and I have no new perspective, but where do I put this post-pandemic fashion angst if not on my blog? Here ya go!

Do I love my skinny jeans enough to go down with a sinking ship? Am I throwing in the towel? Is 38.75 years-old the point of no return?

I’m not ready! If my father-in-law buys his jeans at Express, than this is no time for me to clutch my skinny jeans.

And if mom jeans are in and skinny jeans are out, will skinny jeans become the new mom jeans?

I doubt this would be such a harsh predicament if it weren’t for the last 365 days of fleece pajama pants. I have no real-world feel for what is going on and what my peers are wearing.

A recent dinner in Boston affirmed that while I was hunkered down in the suburbs, people have moved on to any number of new pant options.

I would never have called myself a trendsetter, but in my twenties it felt effortless to keep up with the styles. Either that or I was very happy with my delusions of myself.

The suburbs combined with a pandemic, makes scouring the internet my only window into what the heck I should be wearing if I don’t want to be completely out of touch.

I want to dress my age: 38.75. Not 25 and not 39.

I turn to Captain, who’s still wearing his fleece pajama pants. He says,

“Trends are stupid. They just want you to buy more clothing.”

“Correct.” I will be buying more clothing.

I have 2 new styles and returned a third. Captain cocks his head at me,

“They look good if that’s what people are wearing.”

I HAVE NO IDEA! This is my problem.

With a new pair on, I head to pick up BB at school. Her teacher, who couldn’t be more trendy, says,

“I love your jeans!”

Success!

Now what shoes should we be wearing with theses new jeans? Can someone hold my hand?

My original loose jeans circa 1988. Are bowl cuts coming back too?

First the pandemic, then the demise of skinny jeans. I thought we had hit rock bottom, but last week I sank to a new low. I embarrassed 4-year-old BB.

My intentions were pure: loving, caring parenting, but like many moms before me, all I was was an embarrassment. I knew this was my destiny. I just thought I had a few more years before the pedestal I was enjoying crumbled beneath me.

It started with a potty break. Or 50 of them. BB was going to the bathroom every 10 minutes. I called the doctor. They recommended going in. So we did. But not before we went to the bathroom one more time.

What was I thinking? Of course they wanted a urine sample from BB and of course, even though she felt like she had to go, she didn’t. We exited the bathroom empty handed and returned to the exam room to drink apple juice.

Five minutes later,

“I need the bathroom.”

“Let’s wait a little bit. Remember it feels like you have to go, but you just went and you didn’t.”

“I really need to go.”

I manage to get her to wait another five minutes. Then she becomes adamant. We give it another shot. It’s a single use bathroom, very large and private.

I don’t know who’s tried to get a urine sample from a 4 year-old, but contrary to Captain’s assumption, I was NOT relaxing nearby. I was on my hands and knees in front of the toilet, elbow deep in the bowl, trying to keep the sample cup pressed against her crotch because she’d squeeze out a drop here or there and I didn’t want to miss a molecule.

She declares,

“I don’t have to go.”

“Can you try a little more? If not, we need to go back to the room and wait until you can.”

She agrees to keep trying, but is upset about the whole thing and not relaxed at all. I’m sure that isn’t helping.

After I gave birth to BB, I was torn from end to end. I sat on the toilet afraid to ever go again. And I’m talking about urine. They had me relax my jaw, wiggle my tongue and make a “lululululu’ sound. It worked! It’s very hard to keep your crotch clenched if your mouth is completely relaxed.

I offered this hard-earned advice to BB,

“Imitate me, lulululu.”

“Shhh.”

“What? Do it with me. LULULULULU.”

“MOM! SHHH!! They’ll hear you!”

My legs are burning from squatting in front of the toilet. I keep missing precious drops of pee because as soon as BB starts to go at all, she drops her head down to watch, which means I can’t see what I’m doing and pee trickles up my arm. I’m doing everything I can and all I’m succeeding at is embarrassing her.

After 15 minutes in the bathroom, we both regard the urine barely covering the bottom of the sample cup. BB asks,

“Is that enough?”

“I don’t know.”

We exit. I hold out our offering to the powers that be. I whimper,

“Is there any way that this is enough?”

“Oh yeah.”

I have never been so relieved in my life. And thank goodness BB is healthy. She just needs to stay hydrated. She’s never been one to drink enough and my reminders were useless.

Now all I have to say is,

“Make sure you drink, we don’t want to go to the doctor.”

She runs for her water bottle. Maybe out of fear of the urine sample or an embarrassing mom. Or both.