Baby booties
My daughter’s obsession with shoes was not immediately apparent. As an infant, she hated her shoes–soft slippers and tiny sandals that she soon learned to remove and discard, in corners, on sidewalks, and in the trash.By age three, she had reversed her position on footwear. Never a whiner or tantrum-thrower, she dissolved into storms of tears if her shoes (which at this stage had to be pink, purple, or both) got dirt on the soles.For a while, her nanny and I scrubbed and scrubbed, doing our best to preserve the Soles Immaculate. This wore us down even more than the tears, so we gave it up. I’d like to say it was a principled decision to teach our charge that if you live in the world, it will rub off on you; but really, we just got tired of scrubbing.By six, my daughter had accepted the concept of dirt on her shoe soles, but her love of shoes rivaled even her love of animals. One day at the Cincinnati Zoo, we stood before a display of African antelope. ”Springbok,” I said. “Bushbok.” She grinned, pointed to her shoes, and countered “Reebok!”
Baby booties
Baby booties
Baby booties
Baby booties
Baby booties
Baby booties
Baby booties
Baby booties
Baby booties
Baby booties
Baby booties
Baby booties
Baby booties
Baby booties
No comments:
Post a Comment