The Delight of Defeet

The girls have discovered their feet.

It’s been a couple of weeks, actually. But it’s just now striking me how remarkable and profound this is.

It started with a diaper change. I had Althea up on the table. I pulled her teensy feet up in the air to slide a fresh diaper under her tiny little bum, and I saw it. 

The Stare.

It’s the same stare that they’ve been using on their hands for a while now. Exhibit A.

Althea staring at her fist

You also see it in this footsie video. At about  :40, Althea  briefly holds her fist up in front of her face to look at it. Sort of like, “Hey. It’s my fist.”

Well, on this day, Althea saw her foot. The world stopped. Her mind was overwhelmed. She needed to figure out what this new limb was.

Ever since then, she and her sister have been reaching, grabbing, pulling and playing with their feet.

Althea playing with her feet

Yes, it is freakin’ cute. But do you realize, people, that there was a day when you were like that too? One day, when you were 14 or 15 weeks old, you suddenly saw this fat little object with five little toes and you said, “Holy. Shit. Look. At. That. I WANT IT NOW.” And it was marvelous and amazing and momentous? And your parent(s) looked at you and laughed and smiled and thought that you were surely going to be a card-carrying member of MENSA because you had discovered the existence of your own foot?

In case you’re wondering where I’m going with this: These moments with my babies makes me feel deeply apologetic to my mother. I realize now that she felt this wonderful way about me at one point or other. (Who am I kidding. She still feels this wonderful way about me.) She looked at my tiny little face, when I couldn’t even hold up my own head, and thought that I was the most amazing, smart, talented, beautiful, capable, perfect, lovable little thing that ever was born onto this god-forsaken planet.

And then I became a teenager. I told her I hated her. I treated her like she didn’t even deserve to live. I told her to go to hell when I was 11 years old and she spanked me like a child. I deserved it. And then I told her even worse things as I learned even worse words. And she probably bit her tongue. And I probably made her cry more than I am even capable of imagining. 

Now I get it. Ama, I love you and I’m sorry and I surely don’t wish for my kids to treat me the way I treated you. But I know they will. Because that’s what kids do. Generation in and generation out, kids hate their parents. And perhaps . . . well, perhaps parents maybe even hate their kids sometimes. 

But for now? For now, my babies have discovered their perfect little feet, and all is right with the world.

Elise and Althea at 16.5 weeks