A few weeks ago, we went to the mall with Grandma. “Hold my hand,” Grandma said to Wren as we prepared to make our way from the parking lot to the mall, on a quest for light up sneakers.
“Don’t treat me like a baby,” Wren responded. This was new. Sure, I’ve noticed her increased independence recently. Her proud strut as she walks beside the cart in the grocery store. The times she has asked if she could walk on her own once we reach the sidewalk. Since when did holding hands make you a baby? What about our secret signal? Three squeezes…”I love you.”
I was reminded of this interaction last night at 3am as Adi, our three year old, got out of bed for the third time. She needed water (of course to wash down the snack she needed on her first stall attempt) and requested I lay with her. As we made our way back upstairs, I held out my hand and she instinctively latched on. When had her hand grown so big, I wondered as I stored away the memory. That same warm hand that I had scrubbed clean after making “soup” outside earlier that day. The hand that had collected weeds and rocks from around the yard…only the most perfect ingredients. That little grubby hand, a perfect fit in mine.
Later that night, after waking up at the foot of Adi’s bed, I finally returned to my own bed…on tip toes of course-careful not to walk anyone else. As I crawled back into bed, I heard my husband shushing Rose, the baby. Awake and ready to eat. As I nursed her back to sleep, her tiny hand clutched my thumb tightly. That perfectly smooth hand with freshly trimmed fingernails. I rubbed that little hand as I snuggled my sweet baby.
I started the Slice of Life challenge, hosted by Two Writing Teachers ,in March of 2017. I was inspired by the community of writers that I found. So I have continued to “Slice” every Tuesday. You can find out more and read other Slices here.