The Power of Feet


Sore, tired feet during pregnancy. It’s a REAL thing. It’s a real thing that I am dealing with; especially as I am in the home stretch of my pregnancy.

38 weeks.

268 days carrying and growing this tiny human inside me.

It’s hard work people. Don’t ever take a pregnant woman OR mother for granted, mmmkkkayy???

They are superheroes.


Incredible beings.

God knew very well what he was doing when he bestowed the incredible responsibility of child bearing to a woman.

Let’s face it – men wouldn’t survive the first trimester, let alone 9 whole months of morning sickness, (Side note: WHO coined it morning sickness?? TERRIBLE name choice, person. It comes at all hours. It’s not exclusive to the a.m. and confuses men when a wave of morning sickness hits at 8 p.m.) altering of smells, food preferences, lack of sleep, discomfort, inability to wear so many clothes, (anyone else HATE having any clothing tight on your tummy during pregnancy?? It drives me bonkers!) swelling of hands and feet, the rollercoaster of hormones and on and on. And as women, we wouldn’t be able to handle nine months of their whining; it’s awful enough every time the world ends when they succumb to the flu or a cold!

No wonder mom tribes are very real. We can rally around experiences that only we share. Plus, we NEED each other’s support to remind us that we aren’t THAT crazy, that we aren’t alone; that what we are experiencing is normal AND okay.

Anyways – the point I wanted to get to was about those FEET!

At the 38 week mark, my toes ache.

My feet hurt.

Sometimes they swell up in my ankle boots if I’m standing for several hours straight.

What am I thinking standing in ankle boots for hours at a time at 38 weeks pregnant you may ask if you are a mommy?? I’m working. I run my own business and support other businesses. I LOVE what I do and the time and effort that goes into it. I am working as far up to my birth as possible – and while I am sure the business owners would understand if I showed up in slippers, I can’t bring myself to do so. It’s in my head to maintain a business casual wardrobe. (Maybe I AM a bit crazy after all…..)

Yesterday was no exception. I wore my favorite black leather ankle boots to church; where we stand and worship for at least 30 minutes straight. Then, I got to sit for the message, and eat quickly before heading to a client event that I’d helped plan. I stood and walked around for the entirety of the event (pats self on back – because hello, I deserve to at this stage in the game) which lasted 2.5 hours.

By the time I got home, my dogs were howling at me.

My feet were swollen.

It felt so great to get them out of the boots and socks.

I laid on my back, butt against the wall, and feet straight up in the air to drain my lymphatic system; until the weight of the baby crushing my organs forced me to get back up.

Of course, upon standing, I immediately had to pee – because constant peeing is also a REAL thing.

Then I plopped down on the bed next to my love – feet out – in hopes that would help the swelling.

It did.

But, those feet were still aching.

They were BEGGING to be massaged.

I asked my love to pleasssssseee rub on them for me.



Yeah, I really got rejected for a foot rub.

“Science proves that a massage does nothing. That as soon as I stop – there is no benefit.”



I wanted to throw a hormone filled fit.

I wanted to hit him upside the head with a pillow.


I didn’t.

Thank GOD for practicing yoga throughout my pregnancy (and long before), I am still able to cross my feet over my thighs (criss cross apple sauce anyone?).

I grabbed my coconut oil and GAVE MYSELF A FOOT MASSAGE.

“ahhhhhhh oooohhhh” ** insert other strange sounds I was making as my feet enjoyed getting rubbed **

“Do you really have to make those sounds?”

Oh man… he was testing me ladies!!! Just ASKING for some pregnancy hormone laden comeback.

But, I remained calm.

“Yes, it feels soo good. My feet hurt. This pregnancy thing is no joke, love.”

Of course the massage didn’t feel nearly as amazing as it would from someone (ahem) else rubbing them, so I prodded again.

Guys, it still didn’t work. I didn’t get my feet massaged. AND he kind of made fun of my feet. As if maybe if they looked cuter, I’d get a massage. I don’t know what planet he is from, to not understand that pregnant, swollen, feet are still somehow supposed to look ‘good’. But we need to rain reality down into our men.

I keep them painted.

They are very soft.

They have ZERO calluses.

My big toe is the longest toe.

I don’t have a rogue toe that sticks out further than it, or any others.

They go in “proper” size order.

I don’t have little stub toes.

(And I’m not dissing anyone that does have any of the above. Your toes STILL deserve lovin’ and rubbin’ – ESPECIALLY during your pregnancy.)


In college, a man BEGGED to buy me designer shoes. What he wanted in return was photos of my in said shoes.

He wanted to pay for regular pedicures and to ensure they were always pampered and colored.


Sorry if you have a foot fetish person reading this. I don’t mean to offend you.

But it freaked me out.

I turned down the offer.

But now I’m sitting here the day after getting rejected by my love for a foot massage thinking – WHAT THE HECK??

Please laugh if you are reading this. It’s too ironic the power our feet have.

Some men adore and appreciate them.

Beg to have photographs of them.

Insist on setting up regular appointments for them to be pampered and colored.

Other men won’t touch them to help their love out – no matter what.



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