It's like a prayer, the way his two feet come together beneath knees bent back and to the side. Each pad pushes against its mate--heel to heel, ball to ball. The grip of ten toes is a stunted steeple. I thought he would've lost that fetal bend by now, but he's three months into the fresh air and still feeling for the womb.
It means he's new. He's doubled his birth weight and discovered the difference between day and night, but the proof is in the crook of his legs and in two searching feet. He's still new. I can run my hands over the silken powder of his thigh, which tapers fatly to his knee. I can put my finger into the grip of his toes and laugh when he doesn't let go.
And I do. I sit there, finger-in-foot, for so long that it becomes impossible to tell whether the newborn is holding onto me or I'm holding onto the newborn.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
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5 comments:
And that is what is so wonderful about babies. Well, one of the reasons anyway.
My son is nearly 9 months and I still put my finger in his little toe grip while I'm feeding him a bottle.
Ah, the tiny toe grip. You really captured it.
delicous aren't they? I was just reminiscing about my two youngest when they were little babies. I am so thankful I captured what I did on film (digitally) and know I will treasure those images for the rest of my life. I wish I had had more..
Sigh, I can still remember this. . .
Ouch, Bink. My uterus.
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