Today is a good day.
My children woke of happy and whole.
They haven't tried to kill each other yet.
They are speaking like civilized human beings--and wee little baby beings-- and I actually feel joy in their presence, not the overwhelming weariness and angst ridden parental guilt they normally generate.
As I sit at my computer, reading blogs and writing responses, I glanced over, caught off guards by the sudden silence.
And all I can see of my boys is their bare feet, peeking out from under a blanket.
Two pairs of feet, both boasting a pinky toe that curls slightly under.
Both perfect. Both whole. Both beautiful in their simplicity.
Those feet pummelled me during pregnancy. Those feet pound the floor when they run hell bent for some toy. Those feet wriggle frantically when tickled.
Those feet are perfect, even if their wearers are a little less so. And in this moment of silence and simplicity, I bask in that perfection.
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