Dear Emma,
Twelve years ago these bubblegum shoes, along with my very pregnant, hospital-gowned self, waddled the halls of a Nashville maternity ward in effort to distract while encouraging the inevitable birthing process to hurry up and get a move on. I remember laughing- half amused, half embarrassed- over the spectacle of my pink sneaker/open-in-the-back-gown combo, hoping aloud no one I knew happened upon me in such a state. Arm in arm with Rob and heart to heart with our very soon to be born baby girl, the pink shoes and I took our last stroll ever, before entering the long painful night of labor and emerging in the early pre-dawn hours a mother.
