Dear Son,

I remember when your feet were smaller than the palm of my hand. Your pink, smooth feet. As if I needed any more confirmation that you’re growing all the time, placing my palm against your feet provides it. Your feet are now bigger than the flat of my hand.

Your dad remembers a time when your feet were the length of his thumb. Not anymore.

Rubbing your little feet makes me calm. Twiddling your little toes reminds me of the miracle we created. Ten perfect little toes.

Did I ever tell you that you have your dad’s feet?


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