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The Laughing Stork

Candy's Column

Mom Boot-gate

It was the statement that rocked my world:  “And look at you…!  Wearing MOM BOOTS!”

Um, excuse me?

I have never heard of “mom boots,” but I am quite confident it is not a compliment — akin to observing, “Your hair, it’s SO Phyllis Diller!”

Perhaps the worst part is that my so-called friend (who is going to be mortified by this post) preceded this comment by nonchalantly observing I am “looking all big and strong and stuff.”  Presumably because I was effortlessly carrying Miss Skye, all seventeen pounds of her, with one hand.  But still…!  The way he described me, I might as well be a lumberjack.  A big, strong lumberjack.  With MOM BOOTS.  I cringe to even think what the “and stuff” translates to.

Prior to popping out the kid, I’d promised myself I would try to maintain a modicum of style.  Sure, I may not bathe for days.  And my nursing pads may be rolled into a permanent, sticky ball at the bottom of my bra cups, effectively absorbing zero drops of my lactation in public.  But I would always wear heels, dammit!

So I looked down at my feet.  In all fairness to my friend, who I adore, my current footwear IS “mom”-like compared to my stilettos of yesteryear.  A tragic sacrifice I made for my daughter.  Yes, I now wear riding boots with two-inch heels instead of sky-high slingbacks so I don’t end up tripping and throwing the kid down our townhouse’s four flights of stairs.  Which the baby books tell me is a bad thing.

Here are the offending boots.  Not the best picture, but you get the idea.  Now that I really look at Skye, I can tell she is thinking, “Dear God.  Would somebody PLEASE get this woman a decent pair of kitten heels?”

MOM BOOTS!  *Sigh*

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to slip into a pair of high-waisted, flat-assed light blue jeans from Mervyn’s.

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Candy Kirby is the founder of The Laughing Stork and a professional fun-maker who will never stop chasing her lifelong dream: to find the Pomeranian or porn star after whom her parents must have named her. A humor columnist for Disney, Nickelodeon, Scary Mommy, Reductress and Redbook, she also used to be a staff writer for the soap opera, The Bold and the Beautiful, where she penned many scripts featuring prolonged heated stares and countless “Who’s the Daddy?” story lines. Candy lives in Los Angeles with her husband, two young kids and three rescue Persian cats, the latter of whom are the real brains behind this operation (so send all complaints to them).

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