Mummy in Red High Heels

Pursuing top-notch motherhood, I think it is important to let your children feel that you take their choices seriously, to help them grow into confident human beings.

Therefore, when Baby pulled a pair of sky-high red heels out and dangled them in front of me, urging me to put them on, I did not bat an eyelash.

Of course we were in a rush.

Of course I was late.

Of course those ridiculous blocks of flats slow you down. 

But hey. Good parenting.

And so I hoisted myself onto them, locked the door behind us and fastened Baby into his car seat. Immediately I felt the pull in my lower back from the unusual bend I was now making when scratching the ice off of the car windows. The world was white and slippery, and I was wearing the highest heels I have ever owned. I had initially bought them to look super hot on a Caribbean cruise with my New York Luxury Lawyer. Shoes so high I could have killed him with those. Now, years later, I was wearing them to see my shrink.

"My God, you look sexy," Baby's nanny said when I dropped him off.

As I staggered into the hospital I realised that walking in heels is just like going to the gym. But free of charge, with an extra bit of pain.

A young mother, neatly glued behind a pram-plus-newborn, looked longingly at my feet as she emerged from the building. I could see her think, "Gaaaawd WHEN can I wear them again?"

I know the answer to that: when the vivid memory of the extreme pain of childbirth has worn off, and she's ready to embrace a new form of torture. Just like me.

Once inside, on my way to the lift, a seemingly immobile man being pushed by his equally rumpled wife perked up at the sight of my shoes. A nurse gave me the evils: from where she stood on her mind-numbing Birkenstocks, I would have, too.

Then I explained to my shrink why I looked the way I did. 

"So," he said, nodding down at my red feet. "Good parenting, eh?"

"Yes," I confirmed, glowing.

"This is pushing it. Quite so," he said. "I do not understand how women manage to walk in these heels anyway. I'd topple over in a heartbeat."

"You're welcome to give it a go," I offered, taking off one shoe.

"NO!" he shouted, eyes wide with terror. "I'm not going to start now!"

So. There you go. Another classic example of working really hard to be a good parent.

Perhaps - out of kindness to my poor toes - I should tell Baby 'No, thank you', and move on with my mummy-tasks, in boots, and not try so hard. Perhaps, things are fine, just as they are.