I knew it would happen, but perhaps not q-u-i-t-e this early: the Wee Lass was ashamed to be seen with me yesterday as I power-walked her to and fro school. Pourquoi, you ask? Because of Mommy’s choice of footwear, that’s why….

Here’s the deal: Our nanny has just enrolled in a schmancy cooking class, so for the next six months, Momover Lady is really, truly in charge of drop-off and pick-up. Rather than just a festive, “See, I really exist” outing once in a while, I’m officially in it to win it.

And I’m loving it. The Little Lady and I have the best chats, the view of the Hudson River is completely gorge, and yesterday we were extremely naughty, treats-wise, at Chock Full O’ Nuts. (Who knew they served ice cream sandwiches the size of Texas?)

All that bonding is amazing, and I’m (about 90 percent) grateful for the opportunity. But there’s no question my schedule has been turned on its ass. And as a consequence, my own fanny just might spread if I don’t wrest control of the situation. Between my work gigs, my tremendous backlog of Tivo-d episodes of The Rachel Zoe Project and my new mommy duties, hitting the gym is tricky.

That’s why I decided to trot out my circa-2006 MBTs for the total of four miles I’m logging with this drop-and-fetch routine. I wore them a lot after I delivered the Diapered Darling, and I’m pretty sure I even wrote about them in the original version of Momover on Cookiemag.com. (Sadly, those groundbreaking, life-changing installments have now disappeared into the electronic ether…)

But now, with all the cute knock-offs by Skechers and Reebok, my oldies-but-goodies just look mostly oldie. So I think I’ll get a pair of the new RunTones. Maybe in black, if such an option exists, so they won’t read too “Mom” when paired with dark denim. After all, I can’t have the Wee Lass dying of embarrassment already, can I?