Well there’s a sentence I never thought I’d write. It sounds like a punch line, right? Because jeggings are a joke, right? Aren’t they only for toddler girls? Or just really skinny college girls? Believe me when I say, this is all quite serious and very ground breaking. There is nothing sarcastic about what I’m about to tell you. Move over Pajama Jeans!

This all started with my sister. My sister who is older than me, my sister who takes her fashion cues from me (don’t object—you know it’s true), my sister who is shaped very different from me.

“You HAVE to buy these black jeggings,” she says. They’re amazing and flattering and they suck in all your fat. Just order a size six in the midrise—you won’t regret it.”

Ha. That’s cute. Jeggings. In a size six.

I have a long and storied history of buying pants that look great on my chicken-legged, thigh-gap touting sister. I have a drawer full of ’em, and they’re all growing mold in the back of my dresser. Ain’t no way my post partum booty is fitting into a pair of size six jeggings.

For reference, you can’t see it in that headshot, but I have a JLo booty and whatever the opposite of thigh gap is. Thigh rubbage. I have a JLo booty and tight rubbage, which should never be mixed with jeggings.

(And by JLO booty, I mean all of the circumference and none of the muscle tone—hold your jealousy.)

But I did it—I used one of my sacred preschool hours to make the trip, 12-week-old in tow, to try on these pants. “This oughtta be good,” I told myself, ready to recite all sorts of post-partum mantras. “Yay squishy body! Your body does amazing things! You are strong! You have babies! Remember, it took nine months to gain it…”

But y’all. I tried them on. And they’re like magic pants. I even fit into a size six, and I am not a size six! Because they are magic pants! And they are flattering and comfortable! Here are their other magical and amazing qualities…

They’re tight. But they’re supposed to be tight. It’s a good tight, a hold-everything-in tight. Not an everything’s-falling-out tight.

They are stretchy with an elastic waist and look like leggings. HOWEVER, they are thick and won’t thin out at the knees or booty. And they have back pockets like jeans. So if anyone is ever like, “OMG, that girl is wearing leggings and a t-shirt and is not in college.” You can be like, “Boom. Back pockets. Jeggings, not leggings.”

(Because leggings aren’t pants, ladies. They’re still not.)

And they’re cut higher on your waist, so they hold in all that I-had-a-baby stuff (Or, if you’re Kate Middleton, your abs).

Not ready to give up your maternity pants? Jeggings.

Not ready to admit you need maternity pants? Jeggings.

(^^ But for reals, get the maternity pants. They’re God’s gift to pregnant ladies. Or if you’re me, people who don’t want to see my butt crack.)

Want to wear yoga pants for the eighth day in a row and not be judged by snobby preschool moms? Jeggings.

Mom Jeans
Really, Mom? Selfies?

So don’t be afraid. And don’t laugh. And don’t think you’re not skinny enough. Just do it—buy yourself some magic pants and thank me later.

(Mine are from Old Navy and were $17 on sale. You can probably find them in some fancy store but I’ve got two kids and preschool is over in like 30 minutes– ain’t nobody got time for that.)

Kathryn Grassmeyer

Kathryn is a southern transplant, working and living in Northern Virginia with her husband Tyler and daughter Charlotte. She is soaking up life as a family of three before baby #2 arrives this summer. When she’s not blowing noses or failing at potty training, she works as a pediatric physical therapist. Blog: http://www.barefootdaydreams.com/ Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/BarefootDaydreamsBlog Twitter: https://twitter.com/kategrassmeyer