Looking Back

I vividly remember the day of my ultrasound. I remember the anxiety of waiting for the heartbeat and the anticipation of finding out the sex of our baby and I remember the ultra sound of little tiny feet. Out of all the pictures for some reason those little tiny feet became my symbol of hope... ten perfect little toes and two tiny little heels. They were done... completely made...the way God intended them to be...the first fully baked part of my baby.

She's two weeks old now and I find myself still fascinated by her little tiny feet. Tiny little perfect arches, perfect ten little toes- all if it so pink and little. Some day these feet will walk, some year down the road they will dance her through her prom and years after that they will carry her down the aisle. They've stopped being a little sign of hope and have started being a tool. They will be a part of her future she takes for granted.

I'll tell her. I'll tell her about how she used to kick anything that touched my stomach while she was in the womb. I'll tell her about the blue bruise I had for the last two months of my pregnancy from her kicking the table when I sat too close to it. I'll tell her about the little picture of her ultra sound and how those little toes meant so much to me. I'll show her this picture of her little perfect feet just days after she was born and I'll tell her how she was so ticklish when we got her home we couldn't put socks on her and sometimes she'd cry when her blankie rubbed her feet wrong.

She'll think I'm a silly old woman when I talk about her feet and maybe I will be a silly old woman. But I walked a long path, I'll tell her, I walked the halls of the Drs office and the corridors of the hospital, I walked the tile floors in the living room when she cried and I'll walk with her down to every memory she'll let me. And I'll be the silly old woman who loves her from the top of her head to the bottom of the perfect little feet we all prayed so hard for.