Surpassed
8 05 2008Well, it’s happened. We went shoe-shopping for Ignatz yesterday (why, black Converse Chuck Taylor All-Stars, of course. Whatever else?), and we were unable to buy them in my size, so I could have them when he outgrows them. My son, my offspring, the child of my womb, has bigger feet than I do.
I realize that this is just the first step, and a cascade of similar revelations are in store for me in the next few years, but still, I think I shall have a teeny tiny freak-out about this, if nobody minds.
Ack.
Okay, I’m done. Thanks.
Song du jour of the day: for Turkey, this is Deli with Mor ve Ötesi. I like this one, but I don’t think it’ll do very well. I think it’s kind of too good for Eurovision.
Now what the heck are you supposed to do? Will DrBob wear them? Save them for Sniglet and pretend you aren’t going to lose them in 4 years? Darn growing up anyway.
I always save his outgrown shoes for the Sniglet, who always decides that he won’t wear them for one reason or another. In the case of these particular shoes, the very Deepest and Truthiest of Truths is that Ignatz will destroy them before he outgrows them (one reason be glad you have a daughter instead), but if he doesn’t, I’ll try to use them anyway. DrBob won’t get them, because he’s a size 43, and they’re 40s.
OMG, his feet are already bigger than yours?
Yes. But I’m still taller.