Hold My Hand
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“Mommy, I wanna hold your hand!” says my little 3-year-old boy. My arms are full with my toddler and my belly is near to bursting with my 35 weeks along baby. I shift Gus to my other hip and juggle my purse around so Emerson can grab my hand as we walk from the van to the house. His hand is a little sweaty in mine, from a long day playing at his grandparents. Now we are home, and that connection between mom and him is needed. His hand is still so small in mine.
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“Mommy! Mommy!” I hear Gus waking up from his nap. I just sat down with my afternoon snack and try to work up the energy to climb the stairs to get him- why can’t he just climb out of the crib by himself I think? And immediately take that thought back. I’m SO glad he can’t climb out by himself yet. I hike up the stairs to get him from his crib, and he wraps his arms around my neck for a quick squeeze before squirming down. “Daddy, daddy!” He exclaims, butt wiggling as he runs to search for him. We get to the top of the stairs and he holds his hand up towards me, not even looking at me, just trusting that my hand will be there to meet his. With his chubby fingers safely inside mine, we begin the climb downstairs.
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Rosie’s little fingers curled into my shirt as I nurse her. I slip my finger inside her grasp, and they instantly close around mine, holding so tight. She guzzles, content, and I stroke her hand marvelling at the softness. Her body is so warm against mine, but the feeling of her hand in mine is like the cherry on top of the sundae. Her fingers are so small, as is all of her. She’s here with me, and she’s safe.
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We are driving in the van and Nic reaches over to grab my hand. I have to sit crooked on the seat so my arm will reach over to his arm rest. I feel the callouses and scratches that he has gotten from days at work to provide for us; the many evenings spent working on our fixer upper home. The strength and security I feel when my hand is in his; my hand is the smaller one now, the one that gets enveloped.
It’s such a simple thing, to hold hands. I remember our dating days, when holding Nic’s hand was such a huge thing. That small connection that means so much. It’s a simple show of I love you. I’m here with you.
I imagine this is how my kids feel when their hand is in mine. Safe, close, and loved.
