They say that every woman comes to a point in pregnancy when she can't see her feet. Personally, I don't think seeing them is the problem.
I can see them just fine – I can crane my neck to a certain angle and contort my upper body… or I can just look in the mirror. I'd never put on two different shoes and walk out the door, or even don a pair of mismatched socks. Instead, I've found that the true difficulty of combining feet and pregnancy comes when you have to touch the damn things.
In order to actually reach my feet, I have to try and get my legs out of the way to make room for the belly. This is cumbersome, as my legs are pretty firmly set in their place between my upper body and my feet, and don't take well to attempts to move them aside. To get around them, I have to sit (usually on my couch, in front of my coffee table, which holds my laptop, Sylvester) and do a fancy combination of sprawling and bending.
Touching and looking cannot occur at the same time - and therein lies the problem.
This morning, after having wrenched on my shoes in the arduous fashion described above, I was summoned into the adjoining kitchen by Ryan. I stood up, turned and took a fateful step to the left. My leg met resistance, I tumbled forward, and Sylvester was drug loudly across the coffee table.
Ryan looked down at my feet and almost fell to the floor himself in laughter.
Somehow, I'd managed to tie the mouse cord into the laces of my shoe.
The only good thing I can say about this morning is that I did manage untie the darn thing before Ryan could get photographic evidence.
Lucky me – and unlucky you, as I'm sure you all would have enjoyed the visual.
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I can see them just fine – I can crane my neck to a certain angle and contort my upper body… or I can just look in the mirror. I'd never put on two different shoes and walk out the door, or even don a pair of mismatched socks. Instead, I've found that the true difficulty of combining feet and pregnancy comes when you have to touch the damn things.
In order to actually reach my feet, I have to try and get my legs out of the way to make room for the belly. This is cumbersome, as my legs are pretty firmly set in their place between my upper body and my feet, and don't take well to attempts to move them aside. To get around them, I have to sit (usually on my couch, in front of my coffee table, which holds my laptop, Sylvester) and do a fancy combination of sprawling and bending.
Touching and looking cannot occur at the same time - and therein lies the problem.
This morning, after having wrenched on my shoes in the arduous fashion described above, I was summoned into the adjoining kitchen by Ryan. I stood up, turned and took a fateful step to the left. My leg met resistance, I tumbled forward, and Sylvester was drug loudly across the coffee table.
Ryan looked down at my feet and almost fell to the floor himself in laughter.
Somehow, I'd managed to tie the mouse cord into the laces of my shoe.
The only good thing I can say about this morning is that I did manage untie the darn thing before Ryan could get photographic evidence.
Lucky me – and unlucky you, as I'm sure you all would have enjoyed the visual.
