Moon Boots

That's the first thing I remember about CP.  Moon Boots.  How do you get your two-year-old to think it's "fun" to wear braces? You find a funny nick-name for them.  I don't remember much about this, but what I do remember is that they were heavy.  So heavy I could barely lift them up.
Now I wasn't walking at the time, so I don't know anything beyond a vague sense of fear as I sat staring down these immense, dark-blue plaster monsters.  I hated them, can I just say that?  Hated them.  Still do I think.  They were my first square.  My first battle line drawn in the sand.  It was me - and CP.  I was a warrior before I even knew it.

Warriors get tired.  Optimism is necessary.  "Moon boots" were too.  I thank my mother for her never-ending joyousness.  For teaching me that things that are daunting and miserable on the surface can always have a silver lining.

I wore many different moon boots over the years.  Haven't had a pair in a decade.  It strikes me as odd that my husband has never seen me in a pair.  Public perception of moon boots?  Private thoughts about them?  I think I've always like they were a larger part of my identity than anyone else ever did.

Maybe that's how the CP is too.

I don't know, but I'd like to figure it out, and have the courage to believe what I find.