I watch her toddle across the kitchen floor, soft curls bouncing with every step, and I can’t help but stare at her tiny feet. They were the first part of her I really studied when she was placed in my arms—wrinkled, pink, impossibly small. I remember thinking how something so little could hold so much power.

Those feet kicked inside me before I knew her face. And now, those feet—still so small, so tender, so full of wonder—carry her clumsily but determinedly through her little world. They chase after butterflies, stomp in puddles, and dangle over the edge of her chair during breakfast, barely brushing the ground.

Those tiny feet, they won’t stay tiny for long.

One day, they’ll outgrow these cozy socks and baby shoes. One day, they’ll race through the yard with her brothers, dance at sleepovers, and climb trees she’s too little to reach right now. One day, they’ll carry her toward dreams she can’t yet name. And someday, much farther off than I can imagine—but not as far as I’d like—they’ll walk her out of our home and into her own life.

And I will remember the sound of those feet padding across wooden floors, early in the morning, looking for me. I will remember holding her hands as she learned to walk, her laughter ringing out like music as she realized what she could do. I will remember the times she curled up in my lap, feet tucked beneath her, safe and content.

Those tiny feet are growing. They are leading her forward, step by step, moment by moment.

But right now—right now—they are here. And I will savor them. I will kiss them, hold them, chase after them, and walk beside them. Because though they may be tiny today, they are taking her somewhere beautiful.

And I am so grateful I get to walk this journey with her for a little while.