I have issues. I’ll admit it. I’m lazy. I’m the mother that took her shoeless infant to an Italian wake. I’m lucky someone didn’t take me out in the parking lot due to my lack of respect. Ever since this child’s birth 13 months ago, I have neither the time nor energy to deal with the torture that accompanies shoes.
I finally resorted to just putting socks on him. In 45 degree weather. My mother would be mortified if she knew that I deemed this a solution. But even the socks create a situation involving maniacal screaming akin to torture. He has now figured out how to stand on one foot while leaning against something in order to take the socks off. And if, God forbid, you put shoes on him, he takes them off and throws them at you. His aim is not so good, so we are all still OK. But the kid cannot go out without something on his feet. I just can’t tolerate all the comments. I know you are the perfect mother and your child’s clothes never had stains, always matched, and your child wore activity-appropriate shoes. Your child will also probably grow up to be an uptight accountant who will secretly cross-dress on weekends. But leave me alone. I’m doing the best I can.
So I got clever. When I take him out now, I dress him in a onesie and put his snowsuit on that has feet in it. His feet stay warm, he doesn’t get too hot, he’s pissed but I still win. Yippee.
Until the bitch in BJ’s the other night. She said to Derek, “is that pajamas or a snowsuit?”
I missed all this and when he told me about it 5 minutes later, I asked what she was talking about.
D: I think she was being sarcastic. Like either answer would be unacceptable.
K: What does that mean?
D: Well, it’s not snowing.
K: I’m sorry. Will the outfit spontaneously combust if there is not precipitation in the air? It’s 45 effing degrees out. It’s not like it’s Miami in the summer time.
I then may have threatened to go kick her ass, but my husband was wise enough to wait until AFTER her soccer-mom-minivan-driving-fat-ass left the parking lot. She probably would have maced me anyway.
If my child had his way, he would be naked regardless of the weather. I come up with a solution and I still get opinions. So I didn’t want to spend the evening looking for socks down 37 aisles. Maybe I should just duct tape the bastards to his feet. Would that be an acceptable solution? Maybe he could throw a shoe at her instead of me, the woman who has suckled and nurtured him and still manages to get the ass-end of his moods. I hope she ran home to write a book that will help all of us 20th percentile mothers. Cause Lord knows we don’t have a clue.