Mama-Come-Lately

Last Saturday I went to the podiatrist and the optometrist, because that’s what I do for fun on weekends now.

At the first appointment, the doctor held my left orthotic up to my left foot and said, “Whoa.” When he repeated the exercise on the right he said, “This one’s even worse!” Yes, orthotics. Now you know why you’ll almost always see me in sexy shoes like this:

Anyway, “Whoa” is never what you want to hear from a medical professional. It means that you and your dignity, and possibly your money, are soon to be parted. In this case it meant that the devices that keep my arches supported so my feet don’t hurt all the time are falling almost a full inch short. Which explains why my feet and knees are a mess right now. Thanks, hormones! And thanks, too, weight gain!

Okay. I’ll take the blame for some of the weight gain. I indulged my weakness for fried chicken while I was pregnant. But the baby gets full credit for the hormones.

At the second appointment, I learned that my eyes have not only weakened, but I now need correction for reading. I’m going to try contacts (one for distance, one for reading, and your eyes supposedly adjust between the two) but in all likelihood I’ll end up ordering my first pair of bifocals.

Bifocals. Orthotics. I might officially be an old fart now. Good thing I have the baby to chase around, or I might consign myself to my rocking chair.