HOWEVER, as I've grown older, pretty much nothing embarrasses me (thanks kids) and I've come to love my feet. They've run a marathon, several halfs, and, with a little nail polish, they don't look half bad. Due to their sheer size, however, I cannot stop breaking my toes.
Yesterday afternoon was just the latest - I broke my pointer toe on my right foot tripping over the corner of the bed when I was tucking Freddie in. As I crumbled to the ground and tried not to swear, Freddie rushed over (he loves a good emergency) to see how I was. I got out the frozen peas, hobbled to the couch and iced my mangled toe on a few pillows.
Freddie pulled over the coffee table, put my water bottle on it, handed me a book about castles and put some rose petals he'd collected from the park in a train car on the table. He told me to call him if I needed anything, anything at all, and headed back down the hall to play with his truck.
You never know if they're grasping the concept of empathy but there it was. :)