I need to talk to y’all about the post-baby pseudo-FUPA.
This is serious. Stop laughing.
If you’ve had a baby, you know what I’m talking about. If you’ve had a baby & don’t know what a FUPA is, Google it & then you’ll know what I’m talking about. (I’m terrified of the spam & creepy followers I would receive if I explained what a FUPA is in great detail on here.) In short, it is this:
That delightful pudge of baby fat/skin LOW below your belly button that will not go away. & yes, I WENT THERE – that’s my bare after-baby belly at 10 months postpartum.
You know, the reason “mom jeans” were created.
PEOPLE. There is a reason that mom jeans exist.
It’s because THEY ARE AWESOME.
I was all, “I’m NEVER going to wear mom jeans” & swore off anything that came within two inches of my belly button starting at the tender age of 15. Britney Spears, I’m looking at you to thank blame for years of my ass crack hanging out. I celebrated the day that I finally fit back into my pre-baby jeans, twirling around in their hip-hugging glory, trying to convince myself that they looked just like they used to.
This. Is. A. Lie.
I may be under my pre-pregnancy weight & those jeans may technically fit & zipper, but the flap of fat & skin draping over the button is totally new.
Which gives me three options:
Option One: Pre-FUPA hip-baring ho jeans. Let the jeans button & zipper underneath your pudge, allowing it to drape gracefully over the zipper. Please note that jutting hip fat is inevitable. If you brave these, rock a flowing shirt. Please.
Option Two: Afraid to commit to mom jeans. You tried. You really, really tried & swallowed the pride you felt ten years ago to purchase a pair of jeans that creep slowly upward to the belly. But darlings…all this gets you is a spare tire & a Walmart belly when the button saws your gut in half & creates two pooches – one above & one under. Also? This hurts. I know from experience.
Option Three: Mom jeans. Look how slim! Look how glorious! All unnecessary residual pouches of fat are contained into one streamline look!
When I first fit into my (fake! gasp!) Sevens, they totally did Option One. Until I hiked them up, gave myself a camel-toe wedgie & somehow managed to pinch my organs in half with the belt band without causing internal bleeding for two hours. A MIRACLE.
Then I gave up. I accepted my reality & gave in to the dreaded mom jeans.
& you know, they’re really not that terrible. A little more spandex, a little higher rise & honestly, I can breathe.
FUPA contained. Mission accomplished.
Hi, I’m Blair. I’m 27 & I am a proud sporter of mom jeans.
edited to add:
My favorite mom jeans? Mirclebody jeans. I wear a size 14 in the Samantha bootleg style. I had no idea these even existed until I snagged a free pair as swag at Blogher & immediately became a convert.
Also, Miraclebody has no idea that I’m writing this post. They have no idea who I am, unless they remember the freakishly tall girl that tried on five pairs of jeans to find the right size & fit.
