Yo soy La Lay

adventures in family, faith, and Down syndrome


Do you know what I’m really afraid of?

Mom jeans.

High waisted to hold in the leftover baby pooch, slim around the ankles with white tennis shoes. Or, Heaven forbid, the “capri” variety with socks and a pair of New Balance….

No. Not a good look. For anyone.

I know, I know, I’ve probably offended someone out there who loves their mom jeans. Or maybe someone doesn’t care about how they look and thinks I’m silly for even going there.

It’s not about the jeans, though. Not exactly. It’s more about me. Not my body (thank you, Weight Watchers app for checking in again today after my week from Hell. No, I’m still not going to weigh myself), not my fashion, just me.

The back story is this: Long before we even thought about Tessa, I began planning a student trip to Costa Rica with some colleagues. When we set our June, 2014 travel date, John and I were planning to have our second child about a year before the trip.

We all know how much God loves our plans.

Instead of our April 2013 baby, we got Tessa in late December. And cautiously, John agreed that she would be old enough in June for him to take care of both girls on his own for nine full days.

Flash forward to now, about a month before departure, and I had to back out of the trip. Aside from the financial aspect, there was a strong feeling that until Tessa is just a little healthier, stronger, more self sufficient, I need to be available… at least in the same country.

I am totally at peace with this decision. Of course, who doesn’t want to go gallivanting around a beautiful, exotic cloud forest, even if it is with a bunch of 17-year-olds?? Sad, yes, but I know this is best for us and what we can afford financially and emotionally. But it has me thinking about the “mom jeans.”

Because what if this snowballs? “No trip” turns into putting off a manicure or not getting Happy Hour wine with a friend so that I can be home with the kids… Then I stop putting on make-up every day and hair styling becomes a distant memory and then all the sudden I’m sitting on the couch in my mom jeans and old Kelly Clarkson t-shirt watching Shark Tank on a Friday night and I’m planning my weekend of chores instead of going on a date with my husband or taking a bubble bath.

It’s not the mom jeans. It’s the idea of life in mom jeans. It’s the idea of not taking a hour in the evening to read a book or catch up on Sister Wives… Or not finding a way to prioritize my own exercise routine…. Or not having enough energy to make sure that I haven’t created some awful outfit combination of stripes and polka dots while getting ready for work. That is my fear. Of not “putting on my oxygen mask first” like our NICU social worker used to always tell us.

John says the transition from zero kids to one was way more difficult than one to two. I beg to differ.