Little hands have the power to reach into my ever-important adult world
grasp my heart
and remind me to hold onto moments.
Moments like when Corban is sick and all he wants is to cuddle, to know that someone is in it with him. He reaches over with his little hand and plays with my hair, just to make sure I’m there and I know that he’s there, too.
Or when I’m finished feeding Brielle and she reaches her baby chub hand up to my face, smiles a little bit and babbles sweet baby sounds. It’s almost like she’s saying thank you, I’m full and content now, I just like being here with you.
Little hands remind me to be with.
To savor the simplicity of small touch.
And to know when to let go.