This post is dedicated to Katie, our number one Bloopie,* who once said she didn’t understand why people wear Yoga Pants. Frankly, Katie, we don’t understand why you don’t.
Ode to My Yoga Pants
O Yoga Pants, preferred choice for moms universal,
You of the two-way stretch and soft cotton-nylon blend.
Thicker than tights, softer than jeans, you feel like pajamas.
But pajamas you are not.
My body has changed, and I’m not sure I like it,
But you, Yoga Pants, you don’t judge. No matter my size—you always fit.
My new curves disguised, no muffin-top emphasized,
You subtly imply I’ve been exercising, which is as good as doing it, right?
You’re like pajamas, only not.
I want to doze on the couch all day long, and sometimes I do get the chance.
And you, Yoga Pants, don’t get in the way. For bending, for crouching,
For climbing into the McDonalds playplace,
No creeping up or falling down, or drawing attention away from my task,
As inconspicuous as pajamas, only not.
I didn’t do my makeup today, and this is yesterday’s shirt with a hat.
With a Starbucks cup and a double stroller, you complement my look:
The best uniform ever worn. That put-together supermom
At the organic grocery is wearing some, so I must be stylin.
I could be in my pajamas. But I’m not!
One day, I will be ready to say goodbye, to think a skirt sounds just fine.
We will have made it through these fuzzy-brained, blurry-eyed,
Spit-covered, giggle-filled baby years. Until then, Yoga Pants, I will wear you.
Not with pride because I don’t care what I’m wearing—that’s the whole point.
I feel like wearing pajamas. But: I’m not.
*A Bloopie is a Blog Groupie, of course. Thanks to Jessica (who looks great in yoga pants) for coming up with the term bloopie. Thanks, friend, for being one!