Friday, February 25, 2011

High heels hurt and other revelations

Expressing any personal style at work is difficult when you're an accountant.  Would you trust someone who looked like a drag queen to properly manage millions of dollars?

This is why professional women have such an obsession with shoes.  It's our only opportunity to add some pieces of flair to our uniforms *cough* I mean suits. 

So by the time I got pregnant last year, I'd developed quite a collection of fabulous heels, which had steadily increased in height.  At 6 months pregnant, I was still strutting about in my heels like Heidi Klum, a perfect example of the modern super-yummy mummy.

In my head, that is.  In my deranged hormonal state, I blissfully ignored the fact that I didn't look like Heidi Klum before I got pregnant.  Looking back, I'm afraid adding 60 pounds to my butt and gut and then balancing those extra pounds on needle-like stilettos wasn't as cute as I thought at the time.  Fortunately (?) in my last trimester my feet rampaged completely out of control and I was forced to turn to flats, since jamming these into heels wasn't an option:

When my feet deflated enough to wear heels again, I was thrilled.  My figure might be a sad, droopy version of its former self, but at least my feet could look pretty!  I slipped my smooth, slim feet into my favourite heels and took a few steps.  But something was wrong, so wrong.  Somehow during my pregnancy, my sexily professional heels had morphed into what felt like instruments of torture.

I was able to salvage a few of my less ambitious heels, but the highest ones didn't make it.  They're resting in peace in the basement, along with my bikinis and single-letter bras.  It was a sad day when I packed up that box of my lost sex appeal, knowing it might never be opened again.  I had always promised myself I wouldn't be one of those women who "let themselves go" post-baby, but I never realized how hard it would be to hold on.  And then I look at S.'s gummy smile and cuddle her soft little body, and I know I'm holding onto all I need.

Saturday, February 19, 2011


I'm a chartered accountant and I love it.  There's no better profession for a cautious, neurotic control freak who likes to eat her smarties symmetrically by colour.  But I started life as an English major and still love to read and write.  Being an accountant doesn't lend itself to stimulating conversation about philosophy or life in general; in fact, interesting people tend to run away if I mention my love for Excel spreadsheets.

So I was really excited about blogging.  Finally a chance to sound my barbaric yawp and see who hollers back!  I have to say the experience has been fantastic and sad.  I'm writing regularly again and my blog prods me to spend time reflecting about things other than the next task on my to-do list.  But...I already had a diary and I didn't need another one.  I'd hoped blogging would involve more of a dialogue, and it's a bit dull yawping to myself.  That said, I've found some great blogs that I love reading and I'll probably keep writing mine anyway.  Just feeling a little cranky tonight, I guess.