So my mommy jeans went to Paris...

When I was a kid, there was a TV movie, Mrs. Harris goes to Paris, about a cleaning lady (played by Angela Lansbery) who saved up her whole life so she could go to Paris and buy a beautiful couture gown.

Well, I'm no Angela Lansbury nor have I saved up my whole life for a couture gown but I did go to Paris and I did take my mommy jeans.

I agnonized for months about what to wear on the flight over to Paris and what to wear in Paris so I didn't scream North American tourist. I never once worried about what to wear on the flight home because my mommy uniform would work just fine.

Living in the Midwest, style isn't something I worry too much about. I can get by quite comfortably with my Kmart jeans and my Target tees (which I have in a rainbow of colours based on the season). I try to dress it up a little with a scarf here or there but frankly, I tend to stand out if I go beyond basic mommy style.

So you can see my panic when for my Mother's Day gift (and several future birthday and Christmas gifts), my loving husband presented me with an offer to take me to Paris.

Paris. Yes, Paris. I lived for 30 years in Canada and as such learned to speak reasonably decent Parisian french so communicating wasn't going to be an issue. I had also worked for the Cdn government so I had had the opporunity to further my second language skills so really, I wasn't concerned about making the French's ears bleed with really bad attempts at speaking French.

No, my main concern was what was I going to wear? I shopped endlessly to find something to cover my very curvy size 14/16 figure, knowing full well that those sizes were about three Parisian ladies combined.

About a week before we left, I gave up and raided my closet. I had kept several pairs of pants that HAD fit before I had had my daughter. I kept thinking as many ladies do (rather hopelessly ignorantly I might add) that I would one day fit back into my pre-baby pants...yeah, no.

I went through my pants selection and got rid of about seven pairs of jeans. Don't worry, I have them all ready to drop off at the nearest second hand store to someone else to enjoy.

When the raiding and pillaging was complete, I was left with four pairs of jeans that fit reasonably. By reasonably, I mean there was a little muffin top and the paunch didn't look super bad. Okay, these would have suffice...ready or not Paris, here come my Mommy jeans!