Blue Jean Mama Meets Her Match
My daughter scrunches the top of her blue jeans down.“They’re too high. They’re covering my belly button,” she says, wiggling her hips from side to side as the jeans slide lower.
“You’re four,” I say, grabbing the belt buckles and hiking them up around her middle. “You are absolutely not allowed to wear hip huggers yet.”
She gives me the look—the squinty-eyed, pinched-lip look that says just wait until I’m 16—and when I turn around the jeans “magically” slip back around her hips. At least, that’s what she claims when, a few minutes later, she’s bent over with a crack that would make a 300-pound plumber proud.
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