Elastic Waistbands: A Love Story

I’m one of those women whose waistline expands faster than a marshmallow in a microwave within weeks of seeing two pink lines on a pregnancy test. With both my kids, my trusty denim became highly uncomfortable to pull on – much less button and zip – by about 8 weeks. I struggled for most of my first trimester feeling like the seams were going to give up on me before I waved the white flag and bought myself a few pairs of maternity pants.

This is where the love story begins.

Photo by Ale Cisnros on Unsplash

Maternity pants, with their giant elastic bands in place of the usual zipper, are like leggings you can wear out of the house without anyone giving you the side eye. Not to mention they feel like pajamas. For 9 months, it was perfectly acceptable for my growing belly to be enveloped in stretchy, unconfined glory.

But then I gave birth, and suddenly everyone expected me to return to the tyranny of regular pants. I was not about to give up quite so easily. There had to be a better way, and my stubborn self was determined to find it.

As it turns out, there are plenty of elastic waistband options for those of us who are not pregnant, and they aren’t all geared toward the over-70 crowd. My favorite by far is the Rock and Republic Fever Legging at Kohl’s. They come in short, regular, and long, and I own at least four pairs in different colors. They’re so forgiving, and we moms need all the grace we can get.

Aside from looking hot, these jeans (leggings? jeggings?) give me full range of motion when I need it. Like when I have to climb up the playground to save my son from falling and breaking his arm, or when he insists we walk around on all fours and pretend we’re cats.


2 responses to “Elastic Waistbands: A Love Story”

  1. […] appreciation for pants with elastic waistbands is well documented. You’ll rarely find me wearing anything else. I like clothing that really […]

  2. […] possesses. I’d be a female Richard Simmons, running circles around the furniture in a neon leotard. “Do the pony!” I’d yell […]

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