Size matters

What is up with shoe stores?

I mean, seriously. I know more women who wear size 9 and up shoes than I do women who wear under a 9.

Why do the shoe stores generally stop at size 10?

I am desperate for new black slides. Mine are gross and old and totally falling apart. While I'm at it, I need new leather sandals that don't kill my arches.

Not one single store at the mall had either of these things for me. Size 8? You can buy any pair of shoes you want. Size 9 and 10 are slim pickin', but there are a few pair for you to try. Size 11? Dream on, sucker.

I am used to doing the walk of shame to the back of the store to find my size in pants, shirts, underwear...I am used to the small selection, the fugliness, the high prices. And I realize that not being able to wear anything I want has everything to do with me and my fondness for cheesecake and corner brownies. If I wanted to (okay, I WANT to, I just need to find my long-misplaced motivation and willpower), I could eventually be a front-of-the-store shopper and have my pick of cute clothes.

But what am I supposed to do about my feet? There's no tootsie diet that I'm aware of. No surgical option--and even if there were, I'm clumsy enough WITH toes, I can only imagine how I'd stumble without them.

Shoe companies, I implore you--MAKE MORE SHOES FOR BIG FEET. Shoes that are available in stores so I don't have to go through the hassle of ordering online. Shoes that aren't sneakers or ugly flat dress shoes.

This post brought to you by the number eleven and the letter "my sore-ass bare feet."

Um, eww.

The only thing nastier than forgotten month-old strawberry yuckiness from the back of the fridge?

Pouring milk and tomato juice down the drain at the same time.

Blech.

My fridge is clean, though. I'm ready for vacation now!! Except for the packing, but that's just a technicality, really.

Wheeee!

Wordless Wednesday: I say Peek-A

She says "Boo."

And it is the cutest thing EVER.

I just finished packing...

Because this weekend I'm going to see my Molly. And my Stephanie. And my Kern (who has a blog, that I can't find, since I never put my blogroll here on the new one...but trust me, she's awesome).

And all the babies and big kids that come with.

And nothing is standing in our way this time. Take that, hand, foot, and mouth! My super baby kicked. your. BUTT.

Squee!!

Houston...

We have a walker.

A single day earlier than her big brother did it, my baby took real, undeniable, defnite, totally for sure steps. Several of them.

Then Mama cried. Just a little bit.

And she's already trying to run.

SLOW DOWN, LB!!!

You know what sucks?

Mondays.

Aunt Flo, four days early.

And taking your baby in for what you think is an ear infection, and finding out she's got effing Hand, Foot, and Mouth.

Argh.

How to spoil a mama...

You wouldn't think that a great night would begin with pleas of "Would you PLEASE go to sleep, child?" at 12:30 AM. Or that it would end after a mere 5 hours of completely disrupted sleep.

But when you're almost asleep, and you feel the pitty-patter of little hands and feet crawling blindly across the bed, and then feel those soft little fingers pat your face, discerning which big person she just found, hear that sweet, sleepy sigh, and your baby falls right to sleep in your arms like you're all she needed, after all? That's a great night.

As she gets bigger, I'm trying to relish those moments. I know too well how quickly it goes by. That I'm going to blink, and she'll be too big to snuggle up in my arms for a nap. That one day I won't be all she needs, or even wants for that matter.

It's sad to think about, but I guess I have to just make the most of it, and commit those little moments to memory, because I know I'm going to need them.