Dear light green jeans

I had no sympathy before you.  I tried to, but the truth is I am plagued by the human condition of only being able to grasp the surface of a problem until I'm surrounded by it.  

I didn't even try to fit into you during pregnancy, I buried you in a drawer and, poof, out of sight out of mind.

When I did bust you out....no one understands better than a new mother trying on old clothes and seeing that your thighs are as big around as your waist used to be.  The discouragement, the sense of urgency and slight panic that comes with that moment is unexplainable.  I would fold you up, throw you back in the bottom of the drawer and hug Colt with a quiet, "I miss being a pistol".

This morning, light green jeans, you made me dance around the apartment in a see through bra.  My body may be different, but I still have fight in me yet.

Dear son, I accredit this all to your hunger.  Thanks for breastfeeding your mom's thighs into submission.

With love,

Ama