Tuesday, 12 October 2010
When it comes to kids, some things change quite slowly: conventional wisdom about toilet-training, or attitudes to punishment/ reward, for example. Other things change more or less overnight, so that for me, who had my three in the space of three years (three years and eight weeks, to be precise) it was something of a shock to find that being pregnant with The Bub was going to entitle me to a £190 grant from the government aimed at being healthier in pregnancy.
"It's so you can buy more fruit and veg," explained my midwife, with a roll of the eye that more than ably conveyed exactly what she, for one, thought of such initiatives.
More fruit and veg?? All I bloody eat is fruit and veg. What isn't off limits, in my wheat-free, meat-free and, until I got pregnant again, dairy-free world apart from fruit and veg?
In my wisdom, I decree that The Bub and I are about as healthy as we can possibly be and have no need of the Health in Pregnancy grant.
No, Health in Pregnancy is not my issue. Mental Health in Pregnancy, on the other hand- yes please, can we sort out some kind of government initiative or grant for that? That, I could use.
Happy Mum, Happy Baby, I decide - and gaily, without so much as a glance at the Riverford website or the 2 for 1 asparagus deals in Sainsbury's, use my HiP grant to buy Jimmy Choo's utterly fabulous and totally impractical China Strappy sandals.
Actually, if I'm honest, I use the grant to buy a little less than one of them. The price for the pair? £435.
"Step into these Jimmy Choo sandals for a touch of Studio 54 drama," entices netaporter. "Partner them with matching accessories and your party LBD for disco diva decadence. Heel measures approximately 120mm / 4.5 inches with a 20mm / 1 inch platform."
Yes, because , as a woman who has 2 children under the age of 3 and is pregnant with the 3rd, my life just is full of Studio 54-style drama, isn't it? 'Can't Get a Mum and Baby Parking Space at the Supermarket' drama, yes. 'Really Want Some Raspberries with Greek Yoghurt and Honey Right Now' drama, yes. 'Can't Get Out of the Bath Without Assistance' drama, yes.
Studio 54 drama?? And as for the party LBD and disco diva decadence - my waters might break, I'm laughing so hard.
The shoes arrive, all mirrored loveliness. I try them on for all of 3 minutes, my pregnancy feet making even the 42s a squeeze, my shifting center of gravity making the 4.5 inch heel a terrifying proposition, even standing still.
Still! I won't be pregnant forever! The Bub is due in September; by my birthday in December, I decide, I will be svelte and gorgeous, and celebrating in suitably dramatic Studio 54 style.
My birthday was a lovely, lovely day, make no mistake. I weighed about 16lb more than the maximum that I consider acceptable and breastfed almost constantly. It was freezing, and I wore a purple Princesse Tam Tam dress with a deep button-front for easy boob access, tights and boots. We went for lunch at Jamie's Italian and had friends over in the evening for cake and champagne. It was great. But a Choo-appropriate occasion? Nah.
The Bub turned one 2 weeks ago and the shoes still languished, unworn, tags on, in the box. And, truth be told, I still teetered in them, despite being back down to a normal weight, and they still hurt my gargantuan feet, without the excuse of fluid retention to fall (literally) back on. As the list of things I have bought and am no doubt yet to buy for AW10 expands, the Choos are burning a £435 hole in my wardrobe. At night, they stand over my bed, glinting and winking metallically, maniacally, mocking my aspirational glamour, while my Ash high tops weep muddily in a corner of the porch, sighing that they have served me well; why do I treat them thus?
Enough's enough. I listed them on eBay and, sure enough, they sold. I actually didn't lose that much money on them. And I've gained some valuable closet space.
Now, what to fill it with?