High Heel Heartache

It was mom versus 8-year-old daughter in the shoe aisle — all over a pair of boots that had a one-inch heel.

Mom won but left a saddened little girl moping around and talking about how much she wanted them a full day later. It seems this is going to be her Easy Bake Oven — or, in my sister's case, Baby Alive. The one thing you remember wanting most from your childhood that your parents never allowed you to have. 

I'm OK with this denial. Sure, they were stylish. They were cute. They were an inch off the ground and she would be rocking them all day long, up and down the school stairs, through the halls and on and off the bus. Nope. Not for her tiny feet. 

"But mommy, so-and-so has them and wears them to school."

"They don't hurt my feet. See? (Jumps up and then jogs down the aisle.) They're fine."

No.

No.

And no again.

I'm actually surprised I'm taking such a stand on this because I really don't mind if other girls have them on their feet. I don't judge the parents' decisions. If they want to buy into the older-styled clothes/shoes on younger-aged girls, that's their money and choice. Does it make it more difficult for me to stand my ground as a parent? I do think so, yes. But such is parenting and growing up. There will always be the girl in the higher heels.

Even now, as I walk around in my flats at 33 years old, I'm often out-heeled by three or four inches and I'm OK with that. I hope my daughter will eventually be OK with it, too. Or maybe she'll be the higher heel because I denied her.

I never did get that Easy Bake Oven.