I love a good pair of jeans. I love designer jeans. Seven For All Mankind in a dark wash with quality whiskering, Paige denim in a medium wash with sequence pocket details, a well broken in pair of True Religion jeans.  In my twenties I would frequent the jean department at Nordstrom scoping out my next great pair. The length would never fit me and I always wound up at the tailor, spending an additional twenty plus dollars on getting the length just right. During both of my pregnancies I wore my favorite pairs of jean into my third trimester (thanks to the magical belly band). I knew that I would never be the kind of woman to feel comfortable in Mom jeans.

My thirties have arrived, and two children later I’m desperately holding on to my love for cool jeans. I no longer have the time or room in my budget to continue my quest for the perfect pair of jeans, but I’m trying to stay hip. I recently purchased two pair of the latest style pants; a pair of cigarette thin corduroys from Urban Outfitters and the rail thin vintage washed jeans from Madewell.

I was apprehensive about both purchases. I’m not entirely sold on the ultra slim look, it’s comfortable, but I’m not sure it’s the most flattering.  When I purchased the Madewell jeans, I was persuaded by a very cute and trendy twenty something sales associate, who assured me that the jeans were entirely appropriate for someone my age. She also enlightened me to the fact that I should not alter my new jeans, despite the fact that they are a 34 inseam, and generally I’m a 30. Apparently, altering them would change the overall shape, and instead, I should (1) tuck them into my boots, (2) scrunch them up over high heels, or (3) roll them with flats.

So off I went with my new jeans and cords. I have to admit, both pairs were very comfortable, they were soft and very well broken in. Notice that I’m using the past tense when describing my feelings for my new pants. Well ladies, here’s how that happened.

The pants were long, they were slim, they were super low cut, and within two days of each other, I ripped out the butt on both pairs. The first time it happened was with the cords. I was rushing to get to story time at the library, I was barefoot, and the pants were caught under my foot, I bent over the pick up my daughter and the entire rear of the pants split. I was shocked! How could this happen? Thank goodness I was home, imagine if it happened at the library?

The second time, with the jeans, it was a similar situation. I was cleaning up baby dolls and trying to get the girls down for a nap; I bent over, and heard a heart wrenching noise. The soft, perfectly dyed denim had split, leaving me exposed. The second time I was beyond mortified. Clearly, I thought, there is something wrong with me. Are the pants too tight? Is my butt too big? Am I too old? Is there a new way you are supposed to bend over in these ultra hip pants?

My husband thinks it hilarious that my pants ripped, my co-workers and friends (especially those without children) think it’s a cute and amusing tale.  I don’t. There is nothing funny about bending over and having your pants rip. Hasn’t my body been through enough in the past three years? Do I have to keep insulting it by stuffing it into ultra slim, cigarette denim? Your damn right I do, because the second I stop, it’s hello old ladyville, good-bye cute and trendy, and I’m just not ready for that.