We had our baby’s feet measured yesterday and I kept the little slip of paper they gave me with his tiny size written down. It will go in his memory box, along with the newspaper from the day he was born, his hospital bracelet and his first lock of hair- things that won’t mean much to him until he has his own children and his own reasons to build memories this way. As I folded that piece of paper, I was struck at how momentous an occassion this really was. Not only did my son get the opportunity to prove to us that he is actually capable of sitting still for a few moments, but the measuring of his feet proved something more to me. He needs shoes. He’s walking, and not just in the physical sense. He’s starting that journey, away from me, but with me.
I was reminded of a beautiful post I read called My Mother’s Hands written by Katie at Sluiter Nation. It inspired me to write my own post, about my baby’s feet.
My baby’s feet are perfect for dancing, for stroking, for walking and for exploring. They are new, soft, plump and pink. They have not travelled far. The steps they’ve taken have been only on wobbly legs, growing stronger but still only finding their way.
These feet kicked me from inside, pressed into my skin and tucked under my ribs. These feet kicked on the outside, desperate to begin their lifetime’s journey. These feet stomp all over me, dance all over me, wiggle beside me. These feet are perfect.
My baby’s feet will take him places one day- places with me, places without me. These feet will show him sights I’ve yet to see and will only see through the tales he brings home. These feet will walk to school, will power the pedals on his first bike, will push the first scooter, will dance the first dance. These feet will take my baby far away from me… these feet- I hope- will bring him home.
We had our baby’s feet measured yesterday. He is a perfect size 3.