Feet

I've learned to look at feet much differently. Aster and I have spent a lot of time recently, talking about feet. Her feet. Her beautiful feet. A few weeks ago, after her bath, I painted her toe nails. You mommies know. Carefully placing the chosen blue polish where the nail should be. Filling in the bits where the scared toe nail curves. Adding, sculpting, loving. She was thrilled with the result. Adorable. There was something in her eyes while I was working. Something that told me- she didn't love her own feet. Those perfect feet. I took some time to kiss all of those scars and lines and places that hurt her at one time. She told me, "sometimes, maybe carrying water for my family or something and feet hurt." "What did you do when your foot got hurt?" Shrugging,"I keep walking. I don't say anything." "Because that's who you are. You are someone that will work so hard for people you love and not stop even when you get hurt. You are so strong. So beautiful. So good. Your feet tell stories about how good, strong and beautiful you are." I look at my own characterless feet. Feet seem so symbolic of our lives right now. Those with characterless feet learning from those with beautiful feet. No one, no thing, could have prepared me for this- for how inexperienced I feel. I am just starting to learn about real loss, fear and pain. When you love your child, you feel and hold their pain. My daughter is a shining, thriving, beautiful girl that happily squeals things like, "I know how to spell HALLOWEEN! H-A-L-L-O-W-E-E-N! I DID IT!" I am just breathing. I don't know what to do. I'm just new.