Feet

It all comes down to feet.

They are like the baseline. The lodestone of my existence.

They are everywhere.

When I was expecting, there were feet in my spleen. Feet in my lungs. And oh my god were there feet in my bladder.

Later on, it was feet in my hands. Tiny, perfect newborn feet.

Then those feet swiftly became entrenched in my bed, night after night. More and more of them as the years went by.

Starting out pointing at the end of the bed, as is proper, and eventually making a 180 for the nightly ritual of kicking me right in the kisser.

Feet brought socks out, never to be seen again. Feet brought mud, sand and snow in.

These same feet kicked me, and they also snuggled in with mine.

These feet have been piggies, and they have also been piglike. They’ve also been excellent hosts. We have seen our fair share of fungi, parasites and warts.

And in the end, despite the mud, the sand, the smell and the danger, these feet bring me joy.

So, I think I can sleep balanced on the edge of the bed a little more. But all bets are off if I get booted in the nose again at 1am. Two nights in a row is my limit.