When did this happen? My son and I have the same shoe size. The last month, here in the Northeast, we were hit with bitter cold and brief stints of snow. Looking for something he could wear, he tried on my Bogs, and voila! It was a perfect fit.
These days, he’s walking in my shoes. I wonder, are they more comfortable? I’ve had these boots from before he was born, purchased in Stowe, Vermont a ski resort town that draws in a lot of New Yorkers. He doesn’t know that and didn’t ask how old they were or comment on how the dot-like, somewhat feminine pattern is fading. The priority is that they’re waterproof and warm and he can go outside and have a snowball fight with his dad.
I’m pausing in this “one size fits two” phase because I know it will be brief. It’s surprising because “convenience” and “ease” are not how I would typically describe my parenting journey. We have the same shoe size, we share some jackets and hoodies. Things are feeling a bit roomier in an I’m-not-sure-what-I-should-exactly-be-doing kind of way. Should I marinate the pork chops for dinner now, to maximize marination time? Should I make an apple pie? This is my son’s favorite, but I often tell him the prep time is too much, so it’s reserved for special occasions. Do I watch another episode of Only Murders in the Building with a paraffin glove treatment? The time to spare feels unsettling, freeing, and lovely. This sporadic reprieve from the mental load that accompanies raising a neurodivergent child.
This is the first and last year he’ll be in my shoes. But looking back, we were never walking in unison. He had his own beat, and we were in different marching bands. This season of shared shoe size feels significant because, after 12 years of togetherness, I feel we also have a shared perspective and understanding—and although I don’t want it to pass, I’m beginning to feel excitement about what the future may hold for him.
The Bogs represent the small but significant overlapping section of our Venn diagram of preferences and personality: 80’s music, a discerning palette, an offbeat sense of humor, and love for a good story.
For Christmas, my sister got him a pair of waterproof winter slippers. The kind you can easily slip on, stylish with good traction. He didn’t like them, and now they are mine. I needed a new winter boot anyway. These are more lightweight.
by Cat Borg 
by Brandi Jarrett 
