Dreaming of Feet

I was feeling a little bummed last night, and not just because I found out that Michael Jackson’s son’s name is not really “Blanket”.

The truth is, I had filmed a pilot for a show on a major cable network, and I found out yesterday that it didn’t make the network’s new roster.

And as I’m sure you all know from personal experience, when your TV show gets axed, you could use a little pick-me-up. So my husband had the perfect plan: watching a DVD of “Zero Dark Thirty”.  But strangely enough, this rollicking comedy did not cheer me up. So I prayed for a long time, felt better, and then God sent me something that made me feel MUCH better. He sent it through my dear friend and long-time writing partner, Charlie, because God discontinued his email address due to too many ads.

Are you ready?

Retaining water, much?

Yes, those are my feet. My feet in 2004 when I was pregnant with The Pistol. My feet, the day I stood up after spending six weeks on bed rest. My feet, with sweet little polished toenails that were just about to pop off my flesh due to the pressure.

I have not seen this picture since 2004, when Charlie came to visit me and he was so horrified/delighted by my ballooning peds, that he asked permission to photograph them, so he could make himself laugh/shudder for years to come. Of course I said yes. And so he did.

I think this angle really does them justice.

No, this angle’s better. Definitely better.

Something about the sight of those Fred Flintstones put everything back into perspective. Not only did I survive that pregnancy sans preeclampsia, but 8 1/2 years later, I have a healthy child, slim ankles, and a friend who knows when to pull out the big guns (so to speak) to cheer me up.

I am blessed.

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For the “Dream” part of my title, head over to In The Powder Room. My post, “From Dreamer to Doer“, is a treatise on how real life is not at all like the movies. Well, you know, except for “Zero Dark Thirty” which is a true story.  Except that I would never look as good as Jessica Chastain does if I were torturing war criminals in an undisclosed location. But I digress.

Tagged as: In the Powder Room, pregnancy, TV, Zero Dark Thirty