I Found A Sock, But It Wasn't His

June 29, 2018

By Sanda Rathamone

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"Sometimes, the smallest things take up the most room in your heart." - Winnie the Pooh
On my walk today, I saw something small and white in the grass. I don't know why I was paying any attention to the grass anyway. Maybe it was because I was feeling so glum and my head just naturally angled to the ground.

My head hung low after I had just read a blog about a woman who just recently gave birth to her rainbow baby. I didn't know why I put myself through it...

After that, my mind was on "I just want my baby" mode. 

I don't know why (I really don't know why or what's going on with me today), but I had to get a closer look at that thing in the grass. I took a step closer to this white object, tucked under the grass and realized:

Oh, it's a sock.

A baby's sock. 

Someone's baby's sock. 

Something that Elijah never had the chance to wear. 

All of a sudden, I had this urge to take a picture of it. But I didn't. I didn't want the old lady walking behind me, slowly walking with her walker, to think that I was some weirdo. I didn't want to look stupid.

Yet, the thought of taking a picture of some random baby sock in the grass that some new mommy or daddy probably forgot about or wonder where the heck it went, was stupid. The thought of it was weirdly stupid.

As I kept on walking, I thought about going back and taking a picture of it and not caring what anyone had thought about me. But I didn't. I kept on walking, regretting that I didn't take that stupid picture.

I kept thinking about it. I kept thinking about how tiny, how cute, how adorable, how heartbreaking this one little missing sock had meant, but had nothing and everything to do with me. Moreover, that one little missing sock had nothing and everything to do with Elijah.

I started imagining that the sock was his and all of these scenarios of how it had ended up alone in the grass. 

We were on a blanket on top of the grass and there was Elijah, laying on the blanket with his hands, grabbing onto his feet in the air. He's at that stage where he loves to pull of his socks and suck on his toes. Somehow, he has no socks on and I couldn't find the other pair... 


I was changing his diaper and gave him one of his socks to play with. Elijah throws his sock away because he doesn't want a diaper change or to play with a sock. He wants to run around and play. The sock flies somewhere into the grass and then a bird tries to take off with it... 


I was walking with Elijah strapped in a baby carrier. Of course, not being able to see his feet, one of his socks falls off... 


I was pushing Elijah in his stroller and realized that his feet was sticking out and one of them didn't have a sock on... 

I had to stop there because if I just went on and on and on, the subtle tears that were falling from my eyes were going to blind me from my walk and I didn't want anyone to see me wiping away my tears. Not that anyone would notice.

We still have a clear purple box filled with things that we had bought for Elijah on his twenty week scan. Most of it are clothes. For some reason, we didn't get a pack of socks. However, there was a 4 piece set (bodysuit, pants, bib) with a pair of socks. There was a set of a cap and socks and there was a single pack of plush yellow booties. We didn't get him socks! Not that it matters anymore.

When Elijah was born three days after his twenty week scan, his feet were the size of half of my finger, about one-and-a-half inches long. Elijah could have never worn socks anyway -  he couldn't have fit any baby socks! Not that he needed any.

I could remember the softness of the bottoms of his feet, probably softer than a newborn's.

It felt smooth and puffy, kind of like a gummy bear, but softer. It felt like nothing I have ever felt before, so soft that I can't even find the right words to describe it. The closest, but furthest thing I could think to describe the softness of his feet is how my legs would feel after a good shave and ultra-moisturized - but better. 1000x better.

His feet felt like an angel's feet; feet that never touch the ground.  

I wish I knew the sounds of his baby feet, running on top of the hardwood floor. I wish I knew how many socks he's been missing. I wish I knew how precious his feet looks like in little sneaker socks.

I wish I had kissed his tiny, miniature human feet.

Every now and then, I will see things like the missing baby sock laying around. Sometimes, it's a pacifier or a bib, a shoe, even a diaper. Other times, they're bigger pieces sitting at the corner somewhere, like a baby walker, baby swing, a car seat. Whatever it is, it always makes me think about Elijah and how we never had the chance.

Occasionally, I take it as a "sign" that one of these days, our baby will be here.

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