They were the first part of you I ever saw. You were black and white and fuzzy and they couldn't locate you with the ultrasound so I pointed and said her feet are right here. At which point the tech said I couldn't know that because you were too little. But he stuck the thingy there anyhow and there you were. You were two tiny feet at the end of two very long legs. You were suddenly so much more real.
When you were first born I would sit and marvel at your tiny little feet. I wanted to eat them up. I held them in my hands and rubbed them like a worry stone when things got aggitated and broken in real life. They were tiny and perfect.
Now you're running from place to place, climbing the furniture like a tiny daredevil and dancing to your own little beat. Your feet have gone from proof of life to proof of a life being lived. You are constantly in motion, either running in circles around me or fidgeting while you drift to sleep on my lap.
Sometimes I flash back to your tiny feet which stayed tiny for so long when I am looking at your new toddler feet. They are so similar to those baby feet that I want to nibble them up and yet so different that I am perplexed in that moment by how big you've gotten. And then my mind skips forward to your first dance class on twinkle toes when you are 5 or your first prom.
And I cuddle harder while I still can because you aren't really that big girl yet... and I don't want to miss the chance while I still have it.