Shoes. Not an impressive word by any means. They are simple, everyday things that we deem necessary for daily living. We all have them....some of us more than others. We rarely give second thought to their existence until we wear out our favorite pair or need a special pair for an occasion or outfit.
Tonight, a pair of toddler size 7, light-up, Buzz Lightyear shoes made me cry. I didn't trip over them. I didn't stub my toe on them. I didn't lose one. I watched my baby put on his shoes by himself for the first time (nevermind they were on the wrong feet).
A big deal? No, not to most. But for me it was a huge deal. I noticed that he had his shoes on the wrong feet and asked the girls if they'd put his shoes on him. They both said "No m'am, he put them on by himself." Not that I thought my daughters were telling me a fib, but just out of curiosity I took them off of him, put them by the front door and walked away. I watched from the dining room as he toddled over, picked up the shoes, and carried them back into the living room. He sat down and quietly looked at the shoes for a minute, taking in every detail of Buzz Lightyear printed on the sides of them. He slapped the bottom of one and watched the heel light up. He then slapped the bottom of the other shoe to trigger the light -up heel. I watched in amazement as my little boy lifted the velcro straps on one shoe, put his little foot inside it, and closed the velcro. He repeated this with the other shoe and foot, with no hesitation or second thought. His little legs started kicking wildly and soon the lights on the shoes were blinking like crazy. Satisfied with what he'd done, he stood up, turned around and saw me watching. He looked right at me and said "My shoes!" with a smile bigger than Texas. I told him what a big boy he is and what a great job he'd done, and leaned in for a nice big squeeze, only to be told "Move Mommy. I go play."
To him, this was no big deal. He wanted me out of his way so he could go play. For me, it was huge. I thought back to the first time I saw him. No bigger than a 20oz soda bottle, and just one ounce heavier than a loaf of Sunbeam sandwich bread. His feet were so tiny, and still partially translucent. His entire foot fit perfectly from the tip of my thumb to the first joint. Approximately, just slightly more than an inch long. He wasn't allowed to wear clothes, but even if he were, there were none small enough to fit him. There were definitely no shoes to fit him. He couldn't wear socks for the first 2.5 months. At first it was because his skin was so fragile, and then later because his feet were bombarded daily with heel sticks. I couldn't hold him and love on him at all. Due to the amount of machinery and tubing that covered most of his little body, the only places I could touch my baby were his tiny hands and feet. After the brain bleed and diagnosis of Cystic Periventricular Leukomalacia (Cystic PVL), I often wondered if he would ever need shoes. Would he be able to walk? Would he be able to see to put them on and if so, would he have the coordination to do it? Will he run and play like most children? Will I ever see muddy little shoe prints on my kitchen floor? He was 5 months old the first time he wore shoes. Infant size 00, soft crib shoes.
Trevor doesn't just "need" shoes. He can see them. He runs and plays like other children. I have seen muddy little shoe prints on my kitchen floor....and yes, he has the coordination to put them on. Obviously, he has made it past the worst of our worries. He survived. He's healthy. He's mostly like any typical 2 year old. There are still many things that I have questions about, and most of those answers will come in good time. Tonight, I have one less question to mark off of my very long list. But, now it's replaced with one more. Who in the world will ever be "big enough" to fill his shoes? In my mind, no one.
Shoes. That's a big word tonight.
Tonight, a pair of toddler size 7, light-up, Buzz Lightyear shoes made me cry. I didn't trip over them. I didn't stub my toe on them. I didn't lose one. I watched my baby put on his shoes by himself for the first time (nevermind they were on the wrong feet).
A big deal? No, not to most. But for me it was a huge deal. I noticed that he had his shoes on the wrong feet and asked the girls if they'd put his shoes on him. They both said "No m'am, he put them on by himself." Not that I thought my daughters were telling me a fib, but just out of curiosity I took them off of him, put them by the front door and walked away. I watched from the dining room as he toddled over, picked up the shoes, and carried them back into the living room. He sat down and quietly looked at the shoes for a minute, taking in every detail of Buzz Lightyear printed on the sides of them. He slapped the bottom of one and watched the heel light up. He then slapped the bottom of the other shoe to trigger the light -up heel. I watched in amazement as my little boy lifted the velcro straps on one shoe, put his little foot inside it, and closed the velcro. He repeated this with the other shoe and foot, with no hesitation or second thought. His little legs started kicking wildly and soon the lights on the shoes were blinking like crazy. Satisfied with what he'd done, he stood up, turned around and saw me watching. He looked right at me and said "My shoes!" with a smile bigger than Texas. I told him what a big boy he is and what a great job he'd done, and leaned in for a nice big squeeze, only to be told "Move Mommy. I go play."
To him, this was no big deal. He wanted me out of his way so he could go play. For me, it was huge. I thought back to the first time I saw him. No bigger than a 20oz soda bottle, and just one ounce heavier than a loaf of Sunbeam sandwich bread. His feet were so tiny, and still partially translucent. His entire foot fit perfectly from the tip of my thumb to the first joint. Approximately, just slightly more than an inch long. He wasn't allowed to wear clothes, but even if he were, there were none small enough to fit him. There were definitely no shoes to fit him. He couldn't wear socks for the first 2.5 months. At first it was because his skin was so fragile, and then later because his feet were bombarded daily with heel sticks. I couldn't hold him and love on him at all. Due to the amount of machinery and tubing that covered most of his little body, the only places I could touch my baby were his tiny hands and feet. After the brain bleed and diagnosis of Cystic Periventricular Leukomalacia (Cystic PVL), I often wondered if he would ever need shoes. Would he be able to walk? Would he be able to see to put them on and if so, would he have the coordination to do it? Will he run and play like most children? Will I ever see muddy little shoe prints on my kitchen floor? He was 5 months old the first time he wore shoes. Infant size 00, soft crib shoes.
Trevor doesn't just "need" shoes. He can see them. He runs and plays like other children. I have seen muddy little shoe prints on my kitchen floor....and yes, he has the coordination to put them on. Obviously, he has made it past the worst of our worries. He survived. He's healthy. He's mostly like any typical 2 year old. There are still many things that I have questions about, and most of those answers will come in good time. Tonight, I have one less question to mark off of my very long list. But, now it's replaced with one more. Who in the world will ever be "big enough" to fill his shoes? In my mind, no one.
Shoes. That's a big word tonight.
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