Footsteps in the snow

It's cold, I'm shivering, but I don't know why. I can't understand it, sometimes it's warm, and sometimes it's cold; but today is very cold. My blanky isn't enough, no matter how much I snuggle up, I'm still cold. I feel my eyes sting as they become damp with tears, my bottom lip quiver and I can't contain it anymore. I cry, crying means comfort, crying means mum. It doesn't take her too long to find me; a moment later I find myself being picked up and held against her nice warm body. I sigh contentedly. When she hugs me, I don't just feel warm on the outside, I feel warm on the inside too. I think it's love, I love my mummy and daddy. They always make me smile and feel safe. I hear her cooing at me. "Awww, what's wrong Amilia?"

I open my mouth to try and speak but all that comes out is "Cooo," in a high pitched squeak. That always happens. I want to speak, I want to tell them what's in my head but my mouth doesn't work. I've been working on it for a while now. Sometimes my words start out with the right sound, but all that ever comes out is an unintelligible squeak or cry. Because I can't speak, I act instead. I snuggle as close to mum as I can and let out a loud and happy sigh to tell her I was alright now.

"Were you cold? Aww baby. Don't worry, I'm here now and it's morning. Let's get you into some warm clothes." I don't want her to put me down, that means loss of warmth. Fortunately, I have a very smart mum, she always knows what to do. She calls in dad, and together they get me dressed, barely having to put me down. It's much warmer now I've been put in clothes. I let out a happy gargle. Mum carries me downstairs and puts me in my high chair. I never like the food they give me, but I like the grumbly pangs of hunger in my stomach even less. So I swallow my food (... okay, most of my food. Fine! Enough of my food to not be hungry and let dad wear the rest. Maybe next time they can pick nicer airplanes to eat) and let them pick me up again. Mum puts me down a few seconds later to put something warmer and cosier on, I like my jacket, it's like a blanket I can move around in, and picks me up before opening the door. The cold air greets me, I can't help the screech that comes out as I bury my head in mum's clothes. I don't want to look up. It's warm here. Mum doesn't seem to like that though. She shifts me away and exposes me to the cold. Not having a choice, I open my eyes.

White.

All I can see is white.

The rooftops are covered in it, the cars are covered in it, the ground seems to be made of it.

I hear a crunch as dad moves towards me, I look at him, then look down, following his footsteps in the white. Each step he makes, makes a crunching noise. It isn't like anything I've ever heard before. All I can tell is that the white stuff looks soft. No longer worried about the cold, I move my hand downwards and make grabby motions. I want to touch. Dad bends down and when he stands up, the white is in his hands. I lean towards him with my insisting motions. I don't know what the stuff is, all I know is that I want to find out. He comes closer and brings his hands to mine. I grab a handful but immediately let go with a squeal. It is cold! It's cold like the ice I played with from the big cold box in the kitchen. Dad laughs, dropping the snow which causes me to frown, before taking my hands in his and putting gloves on me. I've never really liked gloves, they make my fingers feel funny, but I understand the need for them... kind of. Things are warmer with them on. With my hands all wrapped up, I reach for the ground again wanting to feel the white. Dad picks more up and I take it greedily. It isn't as cold this time. It's squishy to touch. I want to see how much I can squish it but I don't want to ruin the beautiful thing in my hands. I decide there is more than enough on the ground, so I clench my fist. It moves in my hand and makes the same crunching sound it made under dad's feet. I bring it up to my face to inspect it before promptly putting it in my mouth. Despite wearing gloves, the temperature of the white is still cold in my mouth. I decide I don't want it there so I push it out with my tongue. Mum laughs, using her sleeve to clean off my face. I try my best to shake her off before struggling to get down. I want to look closer, I want to make crunchy footprints too. Mum bends down and sits me in the white. I feel myself sink to the ground and shiver as the cold works its way through my clothes. I hadn't noticed before, but I certainly did now, that it's wet. Wet like water, or ice once it's been in my hand too long. I look out across the ground, and am mesmerised by the glimmering light shining off the floor. It's amazing. I grab another handful experimentally and throw it away from me in the air. It hits the ground and breaks apart, all that is left is a disturbance in the smooth white ahead. I make a gargle of amusement before picking up another handful and throwing it at dad. It hits his leg and he laughs, bending down to pick up a handful himself and chuck it back. I hold out my hand to catch it but it breaks apart as it touches my glove, slipping through my fingers. Most of it hits my body or sticks to my glove but a small amount lands on my nose. I go cross eyed trying to look at it before letting out a shrieking laugh and shaking it off.

I look ahead, across the ground again, before making my decision. Today I would walk, by myself, and make crunchy footsteps just like dad. I lean forward and get my feet under me. Here comes the tricky bit. I push off with my hands and stand up, I feel myself stumble and fall back on my bum. Mum's hand comes under me and raises me to my feet again. I would say thank you if I knew how, but I don't, so I can't. I put one foot in front of the other as slowly as I can and I hear a crunch as my foot gets closer to the solid ground. Once my foot is under me, I do the same to the other. I manage to make three steps before I fall, but that is enough.

My parents cheer and I gargle, in my own version of a cheer, along with them. I hear a snap of a camera and mum squeal, "Her first footsteps, and her first footsteps in the snow!"

Huh, so that's what it's called, 'snow'. Mum picks me up and gives me a big hug, I am glad to be back in the warmth but I miss the snow already. I struggle to get down but mum doesn't loosen her hold. I tap her shoulder and she looks at me, I point to the ground then look back at her. This time I would do it. I would make a word. I open my mouth and concentrate on what their mouths looked like when they said the word. "Shhh," I say but it isn't quite right. I was missing the end. I frown and try again. "Shnow" I manage eventually. Mum and dad clap and cheer, and that night I'm even given one of the few foods I like in celebration. I say the word again as mum tucks me into bed, "shnow!" I give her a big smile and she smiles back, telling me how proud she is of me. Dad comes in a moment later and wraps his arm around mum as he watches me, before he opens his mouth and starts to sing. As I close my eyes and feel myself drift away, I can't help but reflect on all I had discovered today. The one thing that sticks with me though is, 'as much as I don't like the cold, the snow makes it worth it'.

I fall asleep that night feeling loved, warm, and happy.