They’re not fooling anyone.
We know that Mom jeans is tabloid internet magazine speak for Fat jeans.
They ought to call them Life jeans, since we need them because our bodies have nurtured and released life.
Maybe what we need is a mass burning of the Mom jeans, in fervent tribute to our mothers and grandmothers.
Or we could track down the person who coined the term Mom jeans and ask him (or maybe her) to please create a pair that is magic. Create a pair of jeans that can contract and expand, provide what is needed from what is on hand, learn what is missing and fill in the gaps. Make sure they will hold us when we’re hurt and tell us what we need to hear (even if we don’t want to hear it). These jeans, these incomparable jeans, will remember where everything is and tell us when we have a dentist’s appointment. They will make us laugh for no reason, and they will cook our favorite thing for dinner just because. These jeans will name us, challenge us, listen to our fears and dreams, for as long as we both shall live. And longer.
Dye them blue or pink or purple or polka-dotted green. Make some like army fatigues (standard issue and camouflage). Make a pair of leather ones, just in case. They should be as comfortable as sweatpants, or skin. Put a diamond or a smooth river rock or a hunk of turquoise or a button from a grandmother’s wedding dress in place of a snap, and make sure we can line it up with our navels, as a reminder of our own mothers.
If you can create this pair of jeans (at an affordable price), then go ahead and call them Mom jeans. Otherwise, please stop talking about the jeans we must wear to accommodate our bodies after we give birth. Because they are our jeans, our bodies, our births. And we deserve to name them ourselves.
But this person, whoever he (or maybe she) is, is untraceable. He/She has evaporated into the ether of the internet.
And each of us is left with this: a pair of jeans (or two or four) that we have been told are ugly, loathsome in the eyes of the world. And a body that needs them.