[/caption]I am obsessed with my daughter's feet. I am!
Baby feet are impossibly adorable anyway, but when they belong to your own child...good Lord. Isla's feet were on the side of gigantor when she was born - little skiis that almost seemed to be the same length as her whole lower leg. Now past six weeks, she has grown into them more, though they are still crazy long and lean. Her toes fold right over the tip of my finger when I tickle underneath them, and her toenails are about the size of tiny pin dots. I find it next to impossible to keep those feetsies away from my mouth because all I want to do is drown them in endless smooches, which is exactly what I do for the first part of our diaper-changing routine. I hate to even cover them up, although the itty bitty little socks and tights (Oh, the ruffled socks! Oh, the black and red polka-dot tights!) we do put her in are so insanely cute, I don't know how I'll ever part with any once she grows out of them. And the bunny slippers? Please don't even get me started on the lure of the bunny slippers. They will suck you right in.
[caption id="attachment_121" align="alignnone" width="300" caption="Rockin' the bunnies like nobody's business."]
[/caption]When Isla falls asleep, snuggled up in the crook of my arm, I cup those feet in the palm of my hand and imagine the limitless places they will take her. I see now how they move in concert with her fists as she kicks madly in both anger and in excitement, communicating to me the best way she knows how, aside from tears. I picture her first wobbly steps and her realization that -wow! - she thought she could get around well before! "Screw the crawling now that I know how to really work these things! Good luck catching me, parents!" I think of how she will teeter and toddle her way to the playground, laughing with wild anticipation at the roller-coaster thrill of the swings and the slide. Something tells me - possibly the way she cycles her legs like Lance Armstrong on the changing table - that once she discovers that kind of mobility, it'll be on like Donkey Kong. And not just for her, but for me. I anticipate endless games of tag and hide-and-seek, painting those toenails bright colors and watching her clomp around in my high heels while playing dress-up. Those feet will run her away when she's in trouble and bring her to me when she needs lovins. She will trust those feet for their endless possibilities, as she learns that they will enable her to kick a ball, sprint over hurdles and swim the English Channel if she so chooses. Of course, there will also be a significant chunk of time spent chasing boys (GULP) and one day, when she catches THE boy, those feet will float her across the floor for the first dance at their wedding reception, while her father and I, tipsy on champagne and happiness for her, look on and wonder why it seemed to have been only a moment ago that she was a baby.
Thankfully right now, and for at least a little while, she is still a baby. My brand-new baby, unaware of her mother's feet obsession and all too willing to let me kiss on them as much as I want. Those sleepless moments when I am blindly fumbling for the light and the wipes and the diapers while the late-night hours run into morning, I know my reward is sweet little baby feet. Soft and warm and thrashing about as Isla goes from sleep to hunger mode, they are two tiny reminders (as if I need any) of how awesome it is to be part of this whole thing. This whole Being a Mom thing. Because it is awesome, in the very truest sense of the word. Baby feet smooches are just one of the already endless perks.
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