Baby Toes

in #freewrite5 years ago

Tiny can mean minuscule, like is that all I’m going to get out of this deal? And many big people walk around laughing at, that’s all you got, you’re oh, so insignificant!

But, when tiny comes to baby feet and ears and fingers and noses, tiny is oh, so sweet and commands a reverence of touch only those so freshly heaven-sent in deference get. Cheeks softer than silk and the little tiny fists they make, keeping their arms crossed sheepskined mallets at the precious drum of heather and hummingbird hearts these who require no beating to make music, only a lullaby of the softest of first breaths.

I’ve had the joy of birthing, nursing and holding-all-night four of these on-loan spirits, and kept them warmly wrapped in jumpers and receiving blankets, never have I been a mother to wear more coat or sweater than my baby does in the stroller—that is until they were old enough to want to rebel against being in baby-bunting, walked off to the bus stop, snow on the ground, refusing to put on a parka and mittens.

“I’m old enough now MOM, to march!”

No wonder these feet were black-inked and stamped for identification on certificates of birth, to forever show we once kissed, held, and smelled these small toes and the wrinkled-in softness. Saw every imaginable trail as unique as snowflakes, wondered what these feet might take in the life they couldn’t yet make on their own little limbs, the journey in tight and slack lines, mapped and written on their lovely unwalked soles.

Photo Credit: Isaac Del Toro/unsplash

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This is beautiful. I love it. 💕

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