Of nudists, heel-a-holics and CEOs

(Mostly ignoring how long it's been since I've written...)

A few things to note:

One, I have become a comfortable shoes girl. The heels hanging on the back of our bedroom door these days serve solely as Aida's play toys. It seems her high-heel obsession has grown in inverse proportion to my high-heel disenchantment. I mean, the rockin' red pointy-toed shoes I bought for my Marge Simpson Halloween costume are awesome. And those gold and bronze braided Via Spiga peep-toes I wore to three out-of-town weddings still make me happy to look at. But, these days, I can't even muster courage to slip my feet into those comfy black work pumps. I keep going back to the safe, black Anne Klein Sport flats I bought just before returning to work apres bebe. I never even used to wear flats at all. Ever. Meanwhile, Aida is evolving into a bona fide, get-her-to-the-clinic-now shoe-a-holic. As soon as I come in the door, she points at my feet and demands "Off!" so that she can put my shoes on her own feet. In the mornings as I dress, she digs through my closet to pull out the pink and black Converse high-tops I bought at Marshall's on a whim before Mardi Gras a few years ago. She talks about flip-flops, then starts pulling the pairs of heels out of the cloth shoe holder on the back of the bedroom door. She wobbles as she tries them on her feet. She shuffles out the door as far as she can until one of the shoes tips over. "Dada, see? See, Dada?" she says as she starts out on what is usually an aborted trip to show her shoe-wearing skills to her father because they tip over or her foot comes out and she has to try again. Then, she comes back and impatiently points at another pair. No, not those. No, not those. "Udder one. No, udder one."

Two, Aida ran out of the bathroom after taking her bath tonight, discarded her hooded towel in the hallway, then started boogieing naked in the living room to whatever kids' song was playing on Pandora. I can't remember. After that, she pushed her baby doll stroller back and forth between the living room and the kitchen with a stuffed chicken strapped inside it. Still naked. She is usually clothed. But I'm starting to think her preferred attire is none at all.

Three, while I was happy to hear Yahoo! hired a CEO who happens to be pregnant, I'm sorta disturbed that we have to congratulate the company for showing what Marissa Mayer called "evolved thinking" because they hired her. At the same time, I'm also puzzled to read that her planned leave time is about three weeks. If I remember right, doctors say you need six weeks to recover from vaginal birth and eight weeks from a C-section. And that doesn't even speak to the crazy insane hormonal Mama Bear who emerges during that post-pregnancy period who you never met before and didn't think you would become, but you do. The one who won't let the baby out of your sight and wants everyone in the world to JUST DO WHAT I SAY. I don't know. I could just be me. I mean, when you're rich enough, you can hire someone to wake up and feed your baby every two hours, I suppose. And, I guess maybe your body can recover faster if you are able to sleep more than an hour at a time over any given 24 hour period. But having been through it only once, I have to wonder what exactly she thinks she's getting into. But, hey, maybe that's why she's CEO and I'm just a newspaper reporter.