Obsessed?

Notice the title of this blog? How about the picture to the right of my lil' one's feet? I also have a tattoo of Quinn's footprint on top of my foot. Maybe I seem obsessed with feet. I promise, it's not some weird foot fetish. There is a reasonable explaination, I swear.

When Quinn was born, we marveled at the fact that he looked JUST. LIKE. FRANK. No joke, Frank was destined to have himself a mini-me. Quinn was blonde like Frank. Quinn was tall like Frank. Quinn had Frank's beak. I never got to see the color of Quinn's eyes (I was too early in the pregnancy for them to be fully developed) but if I were a gamblin' man, I'd bet they were blue like Frank's. The ONLY trait that Quinn had of mine was my feet. My flat, long, wide, ugly stepsister feet. For someone that just barely reaches 5'4", a size 9 foot is giant. Most days I feel like I'm in a constant pair of clown shoes. I use these feet in all types of valuable ways, like soccer, but nothing too special. Mostly, they just make me clumsy, and fall down a lot.

I guess that's why I took this little piece of me, that became a little piece of him, and ran with it.