Little feet.

Little feet I used to feel kicking around in my belly before she was born. Little feet I used to kiss and hold when they were tiny and squishy. I would stare at them for hours.

Little feet that grow too fast. Little feet that learned to walk, and then run, before she turned 1 year old.

Little feet that follow me, but also like to pause, and then run in the opposite direction, because they belong to a little girl who likes to test her mama’s patience until it is all gone.

These little feet - it is up to me to guide them, and put them on the right path... whether she chooses to stay on that path as she grows up, or to forge one of her own.

Little feet that stomp through the halls, and jump on the beds, and dance in the kitchen. I will miss hearing the sounds those little feet make one day, as they are walking on their own, following no one, or someone who isn’t me.

Until then, I will guide them, and make sure they are warm, and paint their toes whenever she asks me to. I will watch them run and jump and push pedals and dance and kick and walk back to me when it’s time.

Those little feet.

Those little feet.

They chose me.