When Shin arrived home this morning, he opened the door and surveyed the shoes cluttering up the entrance and muttered, "How many people live here?" I peeked my head around the corner to see him balancing on one foot in an attempt to remove his boots, glanced at the sad sight before me and sighed, not bothering to answer.
It used to be that an entrance cluttered with an array of shoes was thing of beauty for me. In those days my cheerful response would have been, "Only the two of us my dear, and every single pair is mine."
But not anymore.
It's not that I've lost my love for footwear. That. Will. Never. Happen. But I seem to have outgrown almost all of my shoes and for the time being I am left with only four pairs that fit.
If you just thought, "Four pairs, what's wrong with that?" you should probably stop reading now.
Before getting pregnant I was well aware of my chances of swelling up like a balloon due to water retention. So, I knew that I might have to give up on a few pairs of my less sensible shoes. As my pregnancy progressed and I started to become a little unsteady, thus I gave up wearing heels. Still there was some variety and I actually had to think about which pair of shoes I would wear each day.
Enter relaxin.
Relaxin is a hormone produced by the placenta that basically helps a mama's body 'loosen up'. I recently learned that my uterus is the size of a basketball (gross) and relaxin not only helped it reach that amazing size, but also helped my pelvis and ligaments expand to make room for The Bean's inflatable house. Relaxin (a well named hormone in my opinion) also relaxes other parts of the body including the arteries in order to accommodate a much higher blood volume, and the musculoskeletal system so that bones don't start snapping during delivery. Unfortunately, relaxin is not specific to certain areas of the body and loosens up joints all over, including the feet.
Although what I am sporting these days are much closer to flippers than feet and I only own four pairs of shoes wide enough to contain them:
1. Running shoes. Yes, I own running shoes.
2. Motorcycle boots. Leftovers from when I actually fit on the back of Shin's bike.
3. Calf length dress boots that only really go with with dresses and skirts.
4. A funky, yet ancient pair of boots I bought in Hong Kong years ago that can't be worn in the rain.
On most days I opt for the motorcycle boots because they are black and the widest of the four.
sigh
As the countdown to The Bean's arrival gets shorter and shorter (11 weeks and 3 days - eek!) you would think that I wouldn't be so downtrodden. Once The Bean is here the hormones stop and I can return to my well shod days of yore.
double sigh
Sometimes relaxin does such a bang-up job that joints remain in their loosened state forever.
quadruple sigh
The reason for my sadness doesn't stop there. You see I have always felt particularly blessed when it comes to my feet. Even if one foot is bigger than the other and, for the most part, I am unable to buy shoes in Japan, I could be worse off.
I could have my mother's feet.
OR, my sister's feet!
In what I believe to be an honest tragedy, my mother has 'man-feet'. She wears a size 10 but only when she can find shoes wide enough to fit. In many cases she either has to buy a size bigger, wear sandals, or horror of horrors buy men's shoes. Most years she is still in sandals while I am sporting a winter coat.
But it wasn't always this way.
I clearly remember playing dress-up in slinky red satin stilettos, fabulous cork wedges, and high heeled clogs that would've caused any member of Charlie's Angels to do a double-take. What I don't remember, is my mom wearing any of those gorgeous creations. They lived in a box in her closet, a memento of her life before relaxin and her two children got the best of her. Ahh the sacrifice.
Thank you mom. xo
And then there are my sister's feet.
Like my mom's they are both long and wide (she's had four children after all). She also suffers from fallen arches and experiences a great deal of pain if she doesn't wear specially ordered insoles.
'Orthopedic shoes' is the worst 4-letter word that I know.
But the real reason that I have counted my size 8 1/2 blessings over the years, is that she has the ugliest feet I have ever seen.
Up until now I am fairly certain that my sister doesn't read my blog. I guess I will find out for sure sometime over the next few days.
It's not her actual feet that are ugly, but her toes that make them so freakish. The big toes, which are normal in shape, are like two hairy sergeants standing in front of their troop of misfits waiting for inspection. Sergeant BT Left (big toe) and Sergeant BT Right are then followed by three corporals, all of them long enough to possess two functioning knuckles.
Are they called knuckles when they are on your feet?
Anyway, picture E.T.'s fingers and you have pretty accurate image of my sister's toes.
Finally, there is a little private at the end line-up. When I say "little" what I really mean is minuscule. And for some reason it sits up on top of her foot rather than in line with the rest. Rather like Napoleon perched on his horse so as not to reveal his true stature.
Let it be known that my sister has always sported her army with pride, mastering feats with her toes straight out of My Left Foot. I have great faith that if she were ever to lose the use of her hands (touch wood) that she wouldn't miss a beat and just carry on life as usual with her freaky feet.
I do not want that life.
I do not want shoe box feet.
I do not want to give up my Jimmy Choos.
BUT my dear little Bean, if that's the way it turns out then so be it. The sacrifice will be well worth it.
And of course there is a whole cabinet full of shoes that will need to be replaced.
It used to be that an entrance cluttered with an array of shoes was thing of beauty for me. In those days my cheerful response would have been, "Only the two of us my dear, and every single pair is mine."
But not anymore.
It's not that I've lost my love for footwear. That. Will. Never. Happen. But I seem to have outgrown almost all of my shoes and for the time being I am left with only four pairs that fit.
If you just thought, "Four pairs, what's wrong with that?" you should probably stop reading now.
Before getting pregnant I was well aware of my chances of swelling up like a balloon due to water retention. So, I knew that I might have to give up on a few pairs of my less sensible shoes. As my pregnancy progressed and I started to become a little unsteady, thus I gave up wearing heels. Still there was some variety and I actually had to think about which pair of shoes I would wear each day.
Enter relaxin.
Relaxin is a hormone produced by the placenta that basically helps a mama's body 'loosen up'. I recently learned that my uterus is the size of a basketball (gross) and relaxin not only helped it reach that amazing size, but also helped my pelvis and ligaments expand to make room for The Bean's inflatable house. Relaxin (a well named hormone in my opinion) also relaxes other parts of the body including the arteries in order to accommodate a much higher blood volume, and the musculoskeletal system so that bones don't start snapping during delivery. Unfortunately, relaxin is not specific to certain areas of the body and loosens up joints all over, including the feet.
Although what I am sporting these days are much closer to flippers than feet and I only own four pairs of shoes wide enough to contain them:
1. Running shoes. Yes, I own running shoes.
2. Motorcycle boots. Leftovers from when I actually fit on the back of Shin's bike.
3. Calf length dress boots that only really go with with dresses and skirts.
4. A funky, yet ancient pair of boots I bought in Hong Kong years ago that can't be worn in the rain.
On most days I opt for the motorcycle boots because they are black and the widest of the four.
sigh
As the countdown to The Bean's arrival gets shorter and shorter (11 weeks and 3 days - eek!) you would think that I wouldn't be so downtrodden. Once The Bean is here the hormones stop and I can return to my well shod days of yore.
double sigh
Sometimes relaxin does such a bang-up job that joints remain in their loosened state forever.
quadruple sigh
The reason for my sadness doesn't stop there. You see I have always felt particularly blessed when it comes to my feet. Even if one foot is bigger than the other and, for the most part, I am unable to buy shoes in Japan, I could be worse off.
I could have my mother's feet.
OR, my sister's feet!
In what I believe to be an honest tragedy, my mother has 'man-feet'. She wears a size 10 but only when she can find shoes wide enough to fit. In many cases she either has to buy a size bigger, wear sandals, or horror of horrors buy men's shoes. Most years she is still in sandals while I am sporting a winter coat.
But it wasn't always this way.
I clearly remember playing dress-up in slinky red satin stilettos, fabulous cork wedges, and high heeled clogs that would've caused any member of Charlie's Angels to do a double-take. What I don't remember, is my mom wearing any of those gorgeous creations. They lived in a box in her closet, a memento of her life before relaxin and her two children got the best of her. Ahh the sacrifice.
Thank you mom. xo
And then there are my sister's feet.
Like my mom's they are both long and wide (she's had four children after all). She also suffers from fallen arches and experiences a great deal of pain if she doesn't wear specially ordered insoles.
'Orthopedic shoes' is the worst 4-letter word that I know.
But the real reason that I have counted my size 8 1/2 blessings over the years, is that she has the ugliest feet I have ever seen.
Up until now I am fairly certain that my sister doesn't read my blog. I guess I will find out for sure sometime over the next few days.
It's not her actual feet that are ugly, but her toes that make them so freakish. The big toes, which are normal in shape, are like two hairy sergeants standing in front of their troop of misfits waiting for inspection. Sergeant BT Left (big toe) and Sergeant BT Right are then followed by three corporals, all of them long enough to possess two functioning knuckles.
Are they called knuckles when they are on your feet?
Anyway, picture E.T.'s fingers and you have pretty accurate image of my sister's toes.
Finally, there is a little private at the end line-up. When I say "little" what I really mean is minuscule. And for some reason it sits up on top of her foot rather than in line with the rest. Rather like Napoleon perched on his horse so as not to reveal his true stature.
Let it be known that my sister has always sported her army with pride, mastering feats with her toes straight out of My Left Foot. I have great faith that if she were ever to lose the use of her hands (touch wood) that she wouldn't miss a beat and just carry on life as usual with her freaky feet.
I do not want that life.
I do not want shoe box feet.
I do not want to give up my Jimmy Choos.
BUT my dear little Bean, if that's the way it turns out then so be it. The sacrifice will be well worth it.
And of course there is a whole cabinet full of shoes that will need to be replaced.
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