The importance of feet

I know there are many people out there who are severely grossed out by feet.  Feet can be dirty, smelly, calloused and corned.  And they can create an unbelievable funk living inside of hot, sweaty shoes all day long.  Feet can get mangled and tortured, squeezed inside of designer heels, and result in horrible eye candy. And don't even get me started on dancers' feet.  Oy.  Despite the fantastic potential funkiness of feet, I feel that they are highly under appreciated, and overall get a bad wrap.  I feel that, aside from their obvious and crucial functionality, they deserve to be seen in a different light. 

Feet are very important in our household.

My love of dance carried me into a major in dance at James Madison University.  It was through the dance and theater community that I met Mike.  I think back on the first night that he came over to my college apartment.  It was Superbowl Sunday, and we had invited friends over to watch the game and then watch the movie, Life Is Beautiful. I had worked up the guts to invite Mike over, and he had agreed to come after the game.  I liked him - but I had no idea how he felt about me.  That night after the movie finished, Mike and I sat side by side on the couch with my other friends and roommates, laughing and telling jokes.  At a certain point, I realized that Mike had nonchalantly slid his socked feet under my leg.  This subtle gesture communicated everything that we weren't saying out loud; that he was comfortable around me.  Mike spoke with his feet that night and I knew, in that moment, that he really liked me.

When I was pregnant with Hazel, I decided to work almost right up to my due date.  I was due on January 30th, and January 26th was my last day in the office.  It just so happened, that January 26th was one of the biggest snowstorms we had seen in DC for years.  It began in the early afternoon, right before the rigorous DC rush hour hit.  I couldn't leave the office until 4pm or so, as I was trying to wrap things up for the following 3 months of maternity leave. The combination of quick-falling, heavy, wet snow and massive traffic (not to mention everyone fleeing from work early to attempt to beat the storm) was not good.  I got stuck in the car for 5 hours that night.  The last 4 hours or so, I was at a complete stand still about 2 miles from our house. All I could see was white - everywhere I looked. People had abandoned their cars right where they were in the middle of the street, huge trees were laying across major roadways... it was a real mess.  Mike was so stressed and so worried for the health and safety of me and the baby.  He felt helpless.  He was terrified that I would go into labor, sitting in that car.  He made up his mind that he was coming to get us, although I told him I was okay.  He strapped on a backpack with some essentials, put on a head light and his snow boots, and hiked through several feet of heavy snow to meet me where I was.  And I was so incredibly relieved to see him coming towards me - safe - hiking through the sea of white.  He used his feet as a powerful tool that night - to get to his very pregnant, very hungry, very stranded wife.  To bravely express his care and concern for me and our unborn child, and to do what he could to make sure we would be safe... to make sure that we would, at least, be together.  

Beginning about half way through my pregnancy, I knew Hazel would have active, expressive feet.  She was a long baby, and her legs curled around my torso and I could feel her sweet feet constantly dancing, kicking, and tickling the right side of my belly.  And after Hazel was born, she continued to express herself through her feet.  In those early middle of the night feedings, I would bring Hazel into our bed and nurse her lying on my side with my legs bent around her.  And  Hazel would stretch her feet out so that they would touch my legs... so that she could make contact with her feet. And she continued to do that, every time we were in this position. I can't really explain how this made me feel or what exactly she was feeling in those moments, but these seemingly small, insignificant connections with her tiny feet seemed to communicate to me that Hazel was secure, comfortable, safe, and loved.  They felt anything but insignificant to me.

All things considered... when I think of feet, I don't think of smelly, dirty, funky appendages.  I see dance, I see beauty, and so much more than meets the eye (or nose).  I think of sensitive, open receptors of communication, and the transporters of important messages.  I see steady, sturdy servants that take us through the worst of conditions to reach the ones we love. I see expression of life and energy, and I see the sweet, warm, safe, comfort of connection through intimate moments.

And I think of home.