|Our pretty feet from the Faery's perspective, last year.|
It turns out that it's not just my feet that are a subject of concern for people I barely know. Ever since Miss Pie worked out how to pull her socks off, it's been a struggle to keep them on her. Like mother, like daughter, I guess. Unlike me, though, she doesn't give a rat's how cold it is. Putting baby shoes over the socks only delays what is inevitable. Every time I wheel her stroller into the local, heavily air-conditioned supermarket, I receive a dozen tut-tuts from various old biddies, and the same workers who see me every day, yet still feel the need to tell me how cold her feet must be. One even went so far, once, as to tell me I should be - wait for it - tying her socks on with string. Circulation be damned! When I remembered we had an unused stroller boot cover in a closet somewhere (it was never needed for the Faery in Australia), I pulled it out and attached it. The comments stopped overnight. Instant relief.
|Miss Pie's chubby eleven-month-old foot, today|
This is my first Californian winter, so I don't know what's normal or not, but the last few days have been the warmest for a month or so. Today was a balmy 30ºC, so it was with a sense of glee that I not only whipped off the stroller boot cover, but didn't even bother putting socks on Miss Pie for our daily outing to the local shops - take that, you old biddies! We went for a walk first, and let our feet bathe in some warm sunlight. Looking down and seeing Miss Pie's toes wriggling in the warmth, I felt a glowing satisfaction. There's nothing like the freedom of wriggling your toes, and I wouldn't trade that feeling for all the Manolo Blahniks in the world.