This post contains some shapable links to a few of my favorite #BoyMom staples. If you purchase anything by clicking on the images below, I make a small commission.
My favorite pair of sweatpants from college, have holes in the butt.
Not tiny, little pinholes that are imperceptible to the naked eye – but big, gaping holes that I could easily pee right through. Not that I would. But I mean, it would be kind of a cool experiment.
So these pants, they’ve got holes. Big holes. But there is something in me that cannot let them go. There’s some force that still compels me to pull them on when I’m getting ready for bed or in anticipation of a lazy day around the house. Hell, in a pinch – I’ll even wear them to the bus stop (before you get any ideas, I had my husband spot check me – the holes aren’t visible when I’m standing up.)
It stands to reason that I’ve come to see these pants as a badge of honor. They’ve been with me through it all. From the times when I sashayed down Comm. Ave in Boston with my college roommates, planning our next, big theme party to my hospital stay when I had my youngest. Oh, the stories these pants could tell. The gross, weird stories.
What were probably originally purchased from the college bookstore to delay the inevitability of a trip to the laundromat, have become a pillar of my Boy Mom uniform. It’s a uniform I wear with pride. It says, “Sure, ankle boots and sweaters with elbow pads are on trend and all, but today I need to be on the floor glueing together a super hero mask, so yoga pants and comfy sneakers it is!”
Sure, there will be days where I get ambitious and pair my yoga pants with a long sweater instead of a sweatshirt, but if given the option between form and function – function’s got me every time.
And I think that’s where most of us are – here in the land of runny noses and couch cushion forts. In the land where some days, it takes every last ounce of our emotional, spiritual and physical strength to push a Hot Wheels car up the racetrack ramp for the bajillionth time. And here in this land there is no strength to comb through our closet for the perfect #OOTD (that’s “outfit of the day” for those of you who avoid hashtags).
So until the day comes that we retire the Hot Wheels and super hero masks and I’m inspired to get off the floor, take off my mom jeans and dress like an actual grownup again, I’ll take my Boy Mom uniform and wear it with pride. Whether it’s an old pair of sweatpants from college with holes in the butt or a nice, clean pair of high waisted leggings… there’s no shame in wearing a mom uniform.