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This weekend, we celebrated the Princess’ seventh birthday and the sixth anniversary of her adoption. We watched her “Coming Home” video yesterday with our extended family and I was reminded of an affliction I suffered with at that time. Prince Charming calls it “Shoe Pride”.

Chalk it up to a lifetime spent believing that happiness was the result of an exquisite glass slipper.

When we left Moscow six years ago with the baby Princess in tow, I wore a pair of black boots with three and 1/2 inch heels. For the eleven hour flight. Not the most intelligent decision I’ve ever made, but I DID look pretty hot.

What kind of idiot would wear these on an international flight? Me. That's what kind of idiot.

Before you think I’m an idiot, let me say that on our first trip to Russia about three months earlier, I noticed that the people there clearly treated me with utter disdain because of my choice of shoes. I sported my oh-so-practical-and-comfortable Dansko’s. The Russians all wore beautiful, designer high heels and, frankly, I felt more than a little frumpy. I swore to Prince Charming that I would be wearing MY nice shoes on our second trip.

We arrived at the airport four hours prior to our flight as instructed by our interpreters, went through customs without a hitch and finally boarded the plane and headed home.

After 11 hours in flight, we arrived at JFK, completed customs and immigration then stepped out of line to meet our friend Judi who came to meet the Princess. As our three hour layover neared an end, we returned to line only to be greeted by TSA.

By “greeted” I mean ass-raped.

An elderly woman in a wheelchair and I were randomly selected for a thorough frisking. Because clearly paraplegics and new mothers are VERY risky business.

Remember that I have a child strapped to my chest in a carrier and have had on these crazy heels for over 15 hours at this point when TSA decides I should remove my boots and the carrier so they can be x-rayed.

I am so thankful for Prince Charming. Usually, I am the one who talks him off the ledge when he is fighting mad which he usually is where TSA is concerned. On this occasion, he totally stepped up. He unzipped my boots for me, unstrapped the Princesses and pretty well managed to keep his mouth shut the entire time.

By the time we FINALLY arrive home – another 2 hour flight followed by another 3 hour layover followed by another 2 hour flight THEN a grand reception with dozens of friends and family at the airport – I have been wearing these boots for nearly 20 hours straight. Thank God for the fresh blush of motherhood because I didn’t actually recognize my pain. Until the boots came off for the final time.

My feet and legs looked like overstuffed sausages and were completely numb. “Shoe Pride” he calls it. “Stupid” may be more like it.

Which is why I feel a little daft today zipping into those same boots for a long day volunteering at the Princess’ school.

What an idiot. ME I mean.

Props Target for the boot pic : http://www.target.com/p/Women-s-Journey-Collection-Heeled-Slouchy-Boots/-/A-12952123