Hands

My baby ….who is 5…gave me a bit of a turn last night.  I strolled into the Kid Bathroom, to check on him. He was in the shower, his older brother had helped him get the water the right temperature, and I was going in to do my thing. Sing to him, wash his hair for him, check behind his ears for toads. You know, the normal stuff written in Mom’s contracts. I slid the door open casually, only to have him slide it back shut on my finger. Ouch buddy!

Hey Momma..it’s ok. I got this handled! were his exact words.

Oh! was my surprised word.

I guess I should be happy. He’s showing independence, right? He’s gaining a sense of self, and setting clear boundaries in a kind and appropriate way. I know this stuff. I have a bachelor of Science degree in Early Childhood Education. I studied Piaget, Vygotsky, and Erickson, who would say that my Sunny is in the Autonomy vs. Shame and Doubt phase of his little life. I’ll save you 5 years of education from two different universities. Autonomy=good. Shame and Doubt=bad. My boy is claiming his autonomy, and telling me in the nicest way he can….to back off. And I will respect his wishes; help him celebrate his independence.

But I remember his hands. His pudgy little hands, reaching for me, holding onto my hair, sometimes twiddling it between his fingers for comfort,  other times holding onto it like a safety line rock climbers use. And my emotions get the better of me.

I’m no photographer, but one day, I was struck by the beauty of my Mom’s hand, and the way my baby was holding it.

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2 thoughts on “Hands

  1. This post is beautiful and brings a tear to my eye as I think of my babies getting too old to need me… and the picture is precious!

    • Thank you Jamie:) I blew it up, and my husbandboy found a barnwood frame. It has a place of honor at Grandma’s house:)

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