It�s a thing they don�t prepare you for in prenatal class, but probably should.
They teach you how to breathe to get through contractions, and noises to make when your back hurts, and they tell you how to feed and diaper a baby and even basics for raising one, so you�d think they would, sooner or later, address the issue. But they don�t.
I�m talking, of course, about how to deal with the pain caused by stepping on something small, plastic, and pointy in the middle of the night. Like spit-up and unsolicited advice from strangers, the Agony of The Feet seems to be an inevitability of parenting. No matter how often you swear that your kids are only going to have safe, non-toxic wooden and cloth toys with non-violent and creative themes, you will eventually acquire or be given some toy with a million little plastic bits; and you will eventually step right on one of those bits as you make your groggy way to the bathroom in the dark some night.
You can�t scream. That�s the first rule. If you scream, or howl, or let loose a string of naughty words, you will awaken the baby. So you have to pick up your injured foot, which feels like it must have been pierced clean through, and stand precariously balanced on the other foot while gritting your teeth and trying not to make a noise. That breathing technique from labor class comes in handy now. After the immediate shock and pain fade and you no longer feel like you might pass out, reach down and move the offending little plastic thing out of the way. This is important; if you leave it there you will step on it again. I would suggest throwing it out, but if you do that it�ll turn out to have been the one toy your kid simply has to play with tomorrow. So put it up, somewhere far from your poor feet.
Then comes the tricky part. Little pointy plastic toys usually don�t act alone. Still being careful with that foot, you need to make sure the path between you and the bathroom is completely cleared, or you�ll be ambushed by more pointy plastic things. Once you�ve made it past any pointy plastic booby traps and into the safety of the bathroom light, you can survey the damage to your foot. You figure there has to be blood, or a bone sticking out somewhere, or something; but when you look for the wound�you�ll see nothing. No wound! Not even a little blood! At most there might be a tiny dent in your flesh. And this is the most insidious part of the battle of the little plastic pointy bits: they hurt without leaving any evidence, just so that you will look like a big wuss if you recount your tale in the morning. Not only is it painful, but you don�t even get sympathy for it.
At this point it�s best to decide to go back to bed. Fuming about the injury to both foot and ego will not do any good, trust me on this one. Dashing around trying to pick up every other potential foot-poking toy will keep you awake, wake up the baby, and not do much good anyway because by the time you wake up, more little plastic things will have somehow found their way into your path.
No, after doing extensive research into the subject, I�ve come to the conclusion that there is only one sure way to foil the million little plastic bits that await the step of the unsuspecting parent: Wear shoes to bed.
