I was looking at HP’s feet today. So incredibly tiny. She has no idea what to do with them. How could she? She just discovered them last week, so holding them was priority number one, followed shortly thereafter by attempting to shove them into her mouth.
She likes to stand, but has not yet associated standing with any sort of mobility. She can’t possibly fathom what these feet are capable of, where they will take her, the miles she will put on them.
Playing hopscotch in the long summer shadows, running down her big brother in a game of tag. Daddy burying them in sand, the feel of warm ocean water between those tiny toes. Straight up in the air of her first handstand, pushing the pedals of her first bicycle, kicking free and confident in the deep end. Thrusting them ever toward the animal-shaped clouds on the swingset, dragging them anxiously into the first day of school.
She has no idea.
Having them stepped on during her first slow dance. The freedom in that first push on the gas pedal. Learning to balance in heels. Both feet dangling in the highway breeze of her first road trip.
She can’t know any of this.
Sometimes her feet will not be on solid ground or want to walk the path they are told. Some time these feet may be put up on a pedestal, another time the rug may be pulled out from under them. One day she may be swept off of them. And there may come a time when they can’t leave, even though her heart is telling them it’s time.
There is so much she can’t see just yet. But I can. And it looks wonderful.
There will be uncertain steps. Steps that are hard to take, paths that are difficult to navigate, jumps that seem impossible. Sometimes she will have to stand up to people. Other times, she will have to stand there and take it. But through it all, walk unafraid, my beautiful baby girl. Always stand tall. Trust yourself, and your feet will follow.