Monday, 13 January 2014


Something very odd happened recently. I bought a pair of ordinary jeans. 'Medium rise' pale blue skinnyish jeans. Having thought of myself as a low rise girl since the 1990's I recently made the disturbing discovery that they are too low for mummydom. They gape too much at the back and let cold winds penetrate as you bend over. Builders crack is not a good look with a pram...too close to original pramface for comfort. 
My new jeans are perfectly pale, the pastel soft hue of the Mediterranean at dusk. They are made of some kind of uber soft lightly brushed denim and are deliciously comfortable. They sit in the perfect place between my knicker line and my bellybutton. They don't pinch. They caress my buttocks softly like a sensitive lover. They look great with my yellow wellies, naturally.

Friends who know me well will be surprised by this admission. I've never been a jeans and tops kind of girl, not since I was a teenager. It pays to know your assets and I've always have a cracking pair of pins. Never one to hide my light under a bushel I have paraded these shamelessly. Tights in the winter and bare legs in summer. I love a dress. A single, ultimately versatile piece of clothing. What could be easier? I find women who claim to hate dresses odd creatures, and I resent the assumption that if you wear a lot of dresses you are somehow less thrusting, less serious. A dress can be the ultimate weapon; the right dress makes everything possible. But I digress. The point is that in the last decade I have rarely been seen in jeans, especially not sensible, medium rise, mummy jeans. But there is absolutely no way that you can breastfeed in a dress, unless it's some kind of maternity number. You cannot pull your dress up to your chest and whop out a boob. It's just not the done thing. And pulling your neckline down to feed would look equally odd. No, I have discovered that you simply don’t want to be wearing a dress if you are regularly breastfeeding your baby. 

My many dresses droop forlornly on their hangers like flags on a windless day. They know this is not their time. Instead I have found myself wearing the same pair of jeans on a daily basis, chucked on with wellies and mac ready for bracing park walks. I had to bite the bullet and admit the truth. It was time to buy a pair of mummy jeans.

I agonised over this purchase the way women agonise over their wedding dress. How would I find a pair that fulfilled the demanding brief; practical yet flattering, comfortable yet stylish. What I needed was a pair of jeans that transcended the fickle demands of fashion, that were classic. Jeans that whispered milf, not fashion victim. That channeled Cindy Crawford on the school run. The kind of jeans the sexy Guess girl would wear on her day off. Not too tight, not too baggy, and definitely not too low. I am not one for high rise jeans; those raised waistbands give me the heebie jeebies. Thus I strode out in search of a mummy jean that would fulfill my wish list and grant me the perfect 'jean butt' whilst giving great milf.

Feeling a little like Goldilocks I trawled the rails of sale jeans. These too small, those too large. These too trashy, those too frumpy. And then I saw them. A pair of pale blue jeans that looked perfect. I read the label; size 10, medium rise, skinny jeans. Not uber tight, just slim. I felt the cotton. Soft. I considered the colour. Yes they were pale, and therefore possibly not the most practical shade. And yet somehow they were. I took them to the changing room, and as the smooth denim slid silkily onto my thighs I was suddenly transformed into Cinderella. You will go to the ball. You will be a milf.


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