Old Shoes

I've heard that after giving birth, a woman longs to squeeze back into the jeans that were once dripping in tequila and led to her giving birth in the first place. They hang in the closet, just waiting for the day she will pull them back out and over her hips (and then look in the mirror and give herself the thumbs up!). While it's true that I would like to wear 99% of my expensive wardrobe that took years to compile (and only 9 months to destroy), it's not those pesky jeans that was bothering me the most.

It was this one damn pair of shoes. There isn't much to them -- they are beige, faux-alligator skin with pointy toes and a half-inch heel. I bought them at Target like 5 years ago on sale, so they weren't expensive. But I LOVE those shoes. They are my "I'm trendy, and professional and five-foot-seven-and-a-half today" shoes. That pair of shoes survived my college apartment, Shelbyville Indiana, my Grandpa's house (he tried to throw them away twice before I put them in a super secret hiding place), the trip down to Florida (when other shoes were left behind) and another move to my current place. I LOVE those damn shoes.

I waited weeks for my feet to un-bloat, and for the occasion to slip them on again. On Monday, the big day had arrived. I had bought some pants for work that were a bit too long (say, half an inch or so?) and had put together the perfectly accesorized outfit. Just before putting the baby in the car seat, filling the diaper bag with blankets, rubbing cream on the baby's heat rash, grabbing my packed lunch, filling my water bottle, giving the dogs a treat, giving the cat a piece of cheese because he saw me give the dogs a treat, grabbing my phone, grabbing my car keys, pouring a cup of coffee and simply heading out the door, I slipped the treasures on my now-skinny-again feet (I'm not trying to brag, but all the fat on my feet has just fallen right off)...

I've also heard that love is blind. Apparently, that was the case on this particular morning because as I carried my baby arsenal into the babysitter's house, she looked at my feet and said, "What's the matter Mommy? Can't afford new shoes?" (which is basically what my Grandpa had said 2 years before) I put the baby down, lifted my pant leg and said, "What?" She just changed the subject.

It occured to me as I got back in my car, after kissing the baby, kissing the baby again, reminding the babysitter what time I'd be back, writing down my phone numbers for the 7th (and then 8th) time, using the restroom, giving her dogs treats and belly rubs, and kissing the baby again, that some relationships just aren't meant to be rekindled. Could it be that me and my shoes had reached the end of the road, and I was in denial?

Even though all that baby-kissing had put me behind my commuting schedule, I pulled in Winn Dixie and bought a tube of super glue. I lined the edges of my shoe, and then stood on my tip toes in the parking lot trying to get the paste to congeal. When it seemed like the task had been accomplished, I got back in the car. The glue seemed to do its job, and the shoes didn't completely give out that day.

At a stoplight on the way home, I pulled up my pant leg to gaze at the shoes I had fought to keep for so many years.

"We've been through a lot," I thought.

And it was then that it occured to me that I wasn't trying to physically hold on to the shoes. I was trying to grasp onto something that I felt represented the old me -- something that defined me in my pre-mommy days. Just like in a human relationship, the wear and tear of what I had put those shoes through was obvious in the faded faux-alligator print and the jagged seams caked in Super Glue. Instead of just letting them go, I kept trying to fix those shoes because they made me comfortable.

It became painfully apparent that nothing I could do would return those shoes, or myself, to our golden days together.

I still have them. I will still wear them from time to time. But it's time to go buy a new pair. And maybe this pair will be more accomodating to carrying 15 bags at once and baby-kissing.

And maybe I can find a pair that makes me stand even taller.