“Honey, I love you, but are you aware that your ass crack is showing?”

Dave asks me this while we’re reading bedtime stories to our toddler.  I hardly think my state of dress or undress matters in the nursery, so I give him a look like, “So?”

“No, I mean pretty much always,” he clarifies.  For instance, at the park, at restaurants and at birthday parties, in front of friends and strangers.

Occupational hazard, I tell him.  Gratuitous butt crack displays are just one of the many things new moms have in common with plumbers.  (The others being poop and obscenely high pay.  Wait, no, just poop.)

Visit any playground and I guarantee you will get an eyeful of maternal bum cleave.  So why are so many moms unintentionally flaunting their coin slots?

Let’s anal-yze this situation.  I’ll take a crack at explaining it.

Not my crack

First, I think we can all agree that parenting involves a lot of crouching, squatting, sitting cross-legged and bending over — sometimes in combination, like when I’m ferrying my perfectly-capable-of-walking toddler on my hip while bending to fetch the toys she drops one at a time.

These activities put a lot of strain on the fabric covering my crack.  Which brings me to the real culprit: fashion.

When you’re in the “not pregnant anymore but still haven’t lost all the baby weight” phase, dressing yourself is challenging.

Maternity jeans are a nice option because you can still get them over your hips, but without a fetus to support, they do tend to slide down.  Same goes for any “fat” pants you’re too skinny for.  Oversized pants = crack.

My stretchier normal sized jeans kind of fit, but they’re low rise.  While high-waisted pants may have made a comeback among anorexic fashionistas, they don’t flatter those who recently gave birth and battle muffin top.  You want your waistband riding safely beneath the deflated beach ball, not cinching it for maximum spillover.  Low rise jeans = crack.

God bless yoga pants, but while they may have been road tested to withstand triangle pose and downward dog, they are no match for the “I’m getting on your level and looking you in the eye so you know I mean business” mom crouch.  Crouch = crack.

Tailored trousers with a belt would certainly provide better coverage, but I’m a good 10 pounds/6 months-to-5-years away from wearing those again.

Even if they made some sort of super crack-concealing jumpsuit out of denim and Spanx, it’s not like I’d wear it anyway.  I gave up blow drying, sleep and peeing alone – I’m not giving up comfort.

Maybe I should care more about being an involuntary flasher, but I’m not all that conscious of it, unless Dave is pointing it out to me.  I’ll sometimes feel a pleasant breeze dancing across my nether regions.  Okay, so I might have a tan line that starts halfway down my ass.  But it’s not like I’m checking back there with a hand mirror.  I’m busy.

Turns out motherhood is all it’s cracked up to be.

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