Mom’s Jeans

Mom wiggled her little fanny and did a little dance. Her jeans were not cooperating. She yanked on them again.

“Mom, what’s the problem?” I stood by her bedside table with her steamy cup of coffee. How could this be difficult? She weighs 89 pounds—one pound for each year of life.

“Oh…I can’t seem to get them on.” Her jeans were stuck, plus she couldn’t zip them up.

“Something’s strange here. They can’t be too tight for you.” I lifted the back of her tee shirt and patted her fanny. “Mom, you’re trying to pull jeans over your back brace with an ice pack. No wonder it’s not working.”

Mom turned around and faced me.

“Mom, there’s a hole in one knee. How did you get that? Did you fall and not tell me?” This has happened before. Mom doesn’t want to make any trouble for anyone, even at her own expense.

“I don’t know how it got there.”

“Where’s your yoga pants?”

Blank expression. “What’s that?”

I searched her closet. “Those black stretchy pants I bought for you. Just pull them on.” God knows that those are the only pants that fit over my tummy anymore. I held up a pair.

“Those are my dress pants.”

“No…Mom, those are the comfy pants that fit over your back brace and ice pack. The ice helps, right?”

“I guess so. I do like the ice. But it makes me cold.”

I held up the steamy cup of coffee. “Cold on the outside and warm on the inside.”

Mom pouted. “Alright. But I want you to know that I’m upset that you took away my exercise. That’s the only dancing I’ve done in years.”

#jeans #Dancing #caregiver




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