These are my foot prints made soon after I was born. I weighed 7 lbs.-5 oz., was 20 1/2 inches long and had a head circumference of 13 1/2 inches. Dr. McCoy Pitt officiated, but I suspect it was a nurse who inked my little toes.
I found this certificate in the magical music cabinet, which is considerably smaller than my mother's cedar chest. Her trunk sits at the foot of her bed, and she keeps things like our baby shoes, some old photographs and tiny sweaters in it. There aren't many shoes left in it, though, because my father got a hold of some of them years ago during his electroplating phase.
He set up what looked like a creepy science laboratory in the basement with a tank of acid and bottles of ooze which he used to bronze anything and everything. He electroplated baby shoes so people could keep them forever—sometimes they would be mounted separately on book ends or sometimes together on a stand with a commemorative plate. They looked like this when he was finished:
In the 60s when I was born, you couldn't buy cute little flexible baby shoes—people thought you had to harness baby feet in rock-hard white things that slapped on the floor when a kid tried to walk, better for encouraging strong ankles and proper arches, I suppose, even though all those little bones hadn't even fused together yet. But then what does nature know.
My babies wore little, suede moccasins or no shoes at all when they were really little. Later on, I shopped for cute, not for support, but since my father had long since given up his basement laboratory, I don't have a shoe to show for it.