“Wait, what? I don’t understand…he has shoes that aren’t sandals that he wears without socks?”
My brain began to ache as I tried to describe my Mommy dilemma to my only girlfriend who would understand. Keep in mind this is the same dear friend I called hysterically on my way to work when I thought I had gestational diabetes, the one whose lap I laid in when I missed my child so much it hurt and the one I asked questions that I can’t even write here because it could put me on some porn Google list (because of child birth questions) or land me in Family and Child Services for my lack of Mommy knowledge. Let’s face it – she went through the journey first so she could be our wise, o-chosen-one.
So asking her a question like: “Soooo – you need different sizes of shoes based on if the child is wearing socks or not, right?” leaves you feeling safe and protected, rather than judged and just plain stupid. Ok, I still felt a little stupid, but a safe stupid nonetheless.
I mean, seriously, no one told me this rule. And shoes on non-walking toddlers who aren’t teetering about in glass shards? Ridiculous. No one is happy about this situation in our household, but toddler room rules indicate that yes, shoes must be worn. And so came our trek to Stride Rite and Nordstom where we learned that I’d been squeezing that pudgy little foot into shoes two sizes too small, that red marks shouldn’t be a part of his foot wardrobe and the anatomy of a kiddo who was in the pre-walking stage.
And to think I’d been so focused on leopard print heels for the last few years…
Either way, those places have got it down. At Nordy’s, first-timers get a balloon, can eat the crayons, the sales gal climbs on the floor with you and you even get a Polaroid of the event. Now THAT’S service! Granted, we left with shoes that fit well, but ended up in a Frankenstein stance because they were a bit too advanced. I can’t blame the sales lady – after all, I’d work to sell those sparkly Converse, even on a one-year old boy. Yes, they’re THAT cute.
A size 4.5 wide and no-grip socks later, we’re happy Stride Rite campers. Exhausted, but content. And now the frequency of shouting from the back seat and a little leather PediPed bouncing off the back of my head is no longer a daily occurrence.
So even though we’d both rather be roaming the streets in bare feet as some higher spirit intended, we’re satisfied. Because if the shoe fits, we’ll take it.
Now remind me this again in three months when I’m still trying to jam him into this pair…