The Shoes
I am casually strolling the aisles of Target when I see them—a line of tiny gold sparkly shoes, each pair boasting the overwhelming temptation of a yellow clearance sticker. Not sure what size shoe my niece wears, I text my sister-in-law a picture.
“Cute shoes on clearance at Target! What size is Jessie?”
They don’t have her size. I stand there for a moment, trying to think of any other little girls I know, but none of my friends have kids (yet). I look at the price again: $3.74. Unable to resist the deal, I grab a pair for my future daughter and put them in my shopping cart.
When the cashier rings up the rest of my items—toothpaste, laundry detergent, bread, chapstick, and a handful of other things I do not technically need—she comments on the shoes.
“These are darling.”
I smile at her, feeling slightly embarrassed at the weird, secret thing I have just done. Who buys shoes for their future kids before they’re even pregnant? They aren’t even baby shoes; they are a whopping size 5.
Those shoes sit in my closet for eight years, across four different houses and two “it’s a boy!” ultrasounds. I can never bring myself to give them up or give them away.
The day we learn she is a girl, I move them from my closet to hers.
The first time I try them on her chubby feet, they are already too small. I attempt to stretch them out with my hands, and even stuff burp cloths in them overnight, but the clock is running out. I text my friend Kelli and beg her to come over with her camera.
“Can you spare 10 minutes? I just need one picture.”
She takes more, obviously, because she is a good photographer (and also a good friend).
And there it is. A blip. Here and gone. She wears the gold sparkly shoes exactly once—on a sunny afternoon, dancing to an Avett Brothers song, twirling and laughing, blissfully unaware of how long her mom had waited for that moment, how long her mom had waited for her.
*All photos by my dear friend, Kelli Seeley.
