I had my back to the living room while changing Callista’s diaper tonight and was pulled to turn around by the sound of Eleanor’s frantic distress.
As soon as I see her, I can’t help it – I doubled over in giggles, the exact kind that make my sensitive girl cry. I knew it would happen the second my fit started, but I couldn’t help it.
Eleanor managed to squeeze her (albeit small for her age) feet into Cabbage Patch Kid shoes. Not her entire foot, of course, but they were on well enough that she was trying, and failing, to stand on her toes in them. My giggles sent her to the floor in tears, and I couldn’t help it – I laughed harder seeing her little legs flailing with these ridiculously tiny shoes perched on her feet.
I won’t be winning mother of the year anytime soon.
(This all went down in a matter of 30 seconds, and I was able to stop giggling and scoop her up before the tears really turned on.)
I calmed her down but couldn’t convince her to remove the shoes (my attempts brought on more tears), so I decided to embrace her creativity and praise her gorgeous new kicks.
Eleanor insisted on getting down from the chair we sat in together, and I held her hand while she took a few practice steps. After precariously walking 5 feet, she insisted, “Eleanor do it!” while pushing me away.
OK, kid. Go for it. And she did.
I’m quite certain Eleanor would make me look like an oaf if we were to walk side by side in stilettos. I’d be embarrassed, but I’m too busy being proud. I think.