The Little In Mister

When we rock in the chair before bedtime, Little Mister likes me to hold my hand up, outstretched, so He can press His little fist into my palm.  I curl my fingers around His hand, closing it in.  He signs and coos, His eyes flutter shut.  He finds it somehow comforting, to have His hand held in mine, like that.

Every time, I know, His hand takes up a little more space in mine.  One day soon, I won't be able to close my fingers all the way around it.  Some day, His hand will be able to encircle my own.  

It's a distinctive strangeness, mothering this boy, to know that He will grow into a man.  That He will with some certainty become much bigger and stronger than I am.  How amazing to consider that, as I cradle Him so tiny, so fragile in the crook of my arm.  

Of course all my children will some day surpass me in strength, as I age, but this one will likely get there first, and while I still feel strong myself.  While I still feel that I am his protectress, His shelter.   

I think of my mother, caring for her father now.  I think of how one day, I will need my children to look after me.  To protect me, to lift me, to hold my hand.  

Sleepy Summer Snuggler

It is such a beautiful thing, this cyclical nature of life and loving. It is, if we are lucky enough for it to work the way it seems meant to.  When I reflect, I am hopeful and thankful in this future dependence on my children.  But for now, it seems so far away.  While I hear the racing of time along life's track, coming at me like a locomotive, I close my eyes.  I drown out the sound with a gentle lullaby.  I  hold His hand, close to my heart, and savor the little while it fits in mine.