The Tale of Two Pants

Last night after a long day of running from one meeting to the next, followed by one errand to the next, I finally walked in the door of our home to find the Hubs doing laundry. Is there a sweeter sight? I don't think so, unless he's doing laundry while handing you a sprinkle donut.

My feet were aching and puffy thanks to my persistence on still wedging my feet into heels a few days week, but it all faded as I watched him throw teeny tiny baby clothes into the washer. Thanks to some awesome hand me downs from my cousin and her growing son, Jack, we had roughly 40 articles of the smallest clothes to wash and sort and the Hubs was on top of it.

As I stood in our room contemplating what I should wear to our church group, I heard a question from the laundry room. "Umm, this may be a dumb question but are these your pants or baby pants?" My first though was "what the what could he possibly be holding up??!!" But then I didn't even need to see what he was holding up nor did I care. For the first time in months, I felt tiny again. God bless him for that dumb question and not being able to tell whether the said pants belonged to our future son or myself.

As I rounded the corner to get a glimpse of the pants in question, there he stood holding up a pair of my cropped leggings. I don't know why but it caused me to laugh so hard I was crying and then had to run to the restroom for fear of wetting my pants.

I'm happy to say those pants, the very pants that I had worn on Sunday, DID look teeny and even baby-ish if you squinted hard enough. The Hubs looked bewildered that those were in fact mine, and I was beaming with pride as I tried to catch my breath through belly laughs.

As I went back in to finish the "what to wear to group" debate after being told my current outfit looked a little "American Pregnant...I could see you cruising on a pontoon boat down the Rock River in it", I fielded a second question from the laundry front. "Umm, based on my previous confusion on your pants versus baby pants, are there yours too?" And there he stood with a size 4T sweat pant and an honest yet hopeful look in his eye. No sir, those would not be mine. This momma does not wear cargo sweat pants. Cue the tears and laughter again.

God bless a man who does laundry on a weekly basis without being asked and even more so a man who genuinely asks you if these are "yours or the babies?" He is to be praised from the mountain tops and lavished with gifts and jewels!!

Case in point, I leave with you exhibit A.

In his defense, there's not that much difference to be seen.

Praise the Lord for stretchy pants. Can I get an Amen?