I thought about my biological mother for the first time in a very long time this morning. I don’t think of her in terms of concrete memories very often.

But today, I woke up and had a very distinct recollection. I thought of her singing “This Little Piggy” to me. This must have been when I was four or five. We were still living in Ventura. I can picture her holding my foot, and singing, my yellow baby blanket vaguely in the outskirts of my field of vision.

This little piggy went to market,

(It will have an in-grown toe nail removed)

This little piggy stayed home,

(where it will remain relatively untouched)

This little piggy had roast beef,

(eating cows in peace)

This little piggy had none,

(but it will have some stitches)

And this little piggy went, wee, wee, wee all the way home

(As far from the main surgical site as possible.)

I’m also remembering how I always mixed up “This Little Piggy” with the story of the wolf and the three little pigs.

This is the last morning where I’ll wake up with right foot as it is. (I asked if I could have the bit of bones they hack off, perhaps in a jar of formaldehyde, but my usually accommodating doctor politely told me no.) The good news is after the break some bones and remove some excess bone, my stupidly large 15 EEEE foot could be reduced to a 14, so I’ll have a slightly less pain-in-the-ass time finding shoes.