Thursday, August 25, 2011

To Shoe A Baby

Morning Readers,

    Did you know that horseshoes last only 6-8 weeks? Too bad. I was hoping I'd found an answer to my problem. Thanks for nothing, Seabiscuit... My ridiculous babies are growing without so much as a thought for their poor mother. Just last week, their feet were the size of mini corn dogs, and lo and behold, Sundance came strutting in on Monday, and thrust her big toe towards my wallet. "But, I bought you shoes three months ago." I reasoned. She puffed out her cheeks and turned to watch Elmo, a shoeless creature, who also, I've noticed, doesn't have a mother.

     This week's confusion can surely be traced back to my stay in the hospital. As I lie in my drug-induced state, higher than Charlie Sheen in a hot balloon, nurses hustled and bustled in and out of my room, feeding a child here, wrapping a baby there. From what I gathered, all these new beings needed to guard themselves from the elements, was a cap made from a sock, and a plastic bracelet around their feet. I also thought I saw the ghost of Jane Austin sitting on the sink..

     In my defense, I did try and ask a nurse, "What do they wear? You seem to be using warm dishtowels."

     To which, she replied, "You look like you could use some pudding", and ran out of the room, without so much as a word about shoes.
      When their little toes began to curl over the ends of their sandals, I wasn't sure I needed to do anything. Perhaps babies toes needed to be longer than their shoes to help them get a better grip on the cabinets. We'd managed to arrange the cribs so they couldn't fall out. Were they adapting to their surroundings, growing long monkey toes to scale crib bars?

     We weren't concerned until the day someone stopped me and asked why my children weren't wearing shoes in a parking lot. "They are wearing shoes. Don't be ridiculous." Looking down, however, I realized their shoes had grown so small, they'd disappeared under their feet, making each baby look as if it'd stepped in something.

     It wasn't until two days ago, when Sundance came wandering through the dining room with mismatched tissue boxes on her feet, did a little jig and said, "Buh buh Ball" and clunked into the kitchen for a cookie and something to wipe her nose, that we knew we needed to do something.

      So, yesterday, I strapped new shoes on their fat feet. Butch's fit fantastically. Sundance, unfortunately, is in between sizes. As I pulled her out of the car, I looked at the shoes she'd wiggled her toes out of the top of, leaving just the ankle straps in tact.

She looked like she was wearing little, plastic bracelets...

Until Next Time, Readers!