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SALT LAKE CITY — A little something from the "Things I thought I'd never hear myself say" files:
"Believe me, my dear, if I ever got to the point where it was mom jeans or perish, I'd take the jeans. I'm not a defeatist, I'm a survivor. You do what you have to do."
This gem comes from a text message conversation with my husband in which we discussed, yet again, the very real possibility that some day we might actually be begging for a minivan, despite our current vehement moral objections.
His position is that a minivan is certain death. This also used to be my position, that to concede to a minivan would be to admit that you no longer resemble the person you once were or ever hoped to be, and that any semblance of dignity, pride or lingering "coolness" would be smashed, ne'er to return again.
But now, I am the parent of three children: a 3-year-old boy and 5-month-old twin girls. And I am not the person I once was.
Let me be clear, I do not want a minivan, now or ever. But I can actually, for the first time, see that there might be a moment in the not-so-distant future where this kind of moral compromise would be the very thing that saves my life, in terms of sanity — precious, fleeting sanity.
Let me be clear, I do not want a minivan, now or ever. But I can actually, for the first time, see that there might be a moment in the not-so-distant future where this kind of moral compromise would be the very thing that saves my life, in terms of sanity — precious, fleeting sanity.
So I said to my husband, "I won't admit defeat yet; all I'm saying is we may get to the point where dignity is out the window, and we'll need that freaking minivan."
I get why he's holding out so vigorously. I mean, after all, becoming a parent is quite a shock — not just because parenting is mind-bogglingly difficult and OH MY GOSH IT NEVER ENDS, but that it is drastically life-altering before you even factor in trying to do it the "right way." And all those things you rolled your eyes at or swore you'd never do, at some point, you will do some version of those very things. Mark my words, friends: you will, and there will be no going back.
So, yeah, I get that as a parent who had at least some semblance of identity and self-esteem once upon a time, there are certain things you want to be able to say you resisted, that you never did, no matter how fiercely the demands of parenthood beat upon you.
And so I likened a minivan to mom jeans:
"We all have our limits," I texted to my husband. "Mine is mom jeans and general frumpiness, so don't worry, I'm not giving up either."
#vanpoll
But wait a minute ... At that moment, I was only wearing half the cute outfit I had put on that morning, the funky yellow belt long ago ditched and the skinny jeans replaced by oh-so-divinely-comfortable-yet-not-suitable-for-public-view leggings, and I was literally barefoot and pregnant for nearly three years of my life, and you better believe I was wearing muumuus by the end of my twin pregnancy and I was loving it.
Because you know what? After pregnancy and childbirth and having two babies at once and nonstop parenting of three children under 4 years of age, dignity is out the window — and I need to get out of this business alive.
So are we rushing to the dealership to trade in the 4Runner for a minivan? Nope. Not even close. Will that day ever come? Who knows. As my husband says, if he has anything to do with it, no. Never.
But I say, never say never. I just want to survive parenthood. And if that eventually means mom jeans and a minivan, well, sorry, husband; and sorry, Lindsay of days gone by. You had no idea what you were getting yourself into.
Lindsay Maxfield is a full-time mom to a 3-year-old superhero in training and 5-month-old twin girls. She is also a writer and editor for Deseret Connect and blogs at anothermormonmommyblog.blogspot.com.
