As I nurse my baby boy, I can’t help but admire his tiny hands, fit with tiny knuckles and tiny fingernails. I wonder how something so simple and common can be so beautiful. Those tiny hands were the ones I felt squirming around in my belly. Those tiny hands hold onto my finger and don’t let go. They rub my chest and grab my shirt. I hold his tiny hands and think about all the things they’ll do. Someday those tiny hands with hold him up as he crawls across the floor. They’ll pick up food to shove into his mouth as he learns to feed himself. Those tiny hands will hold my comparatively large hand as we cross the street and learn about looking both ways. Those tiny hands will pick up, put down, and play with too many toys to count. Someday they will learn to hold a pencil and write “Noah” at the top of his school papers. They’ll hold books and turn the pages as he sounds out each word. Someday those tiny hands will hold my hand for the last time. They’ll write papers and solve math problems as he learns and goes through school. Those tiny hands will hold onto a steering wheel as he learns to drive. They’ll receive a diploma or two and maybe even put a ring on a woman’s hand. They might even have the honor of holding their own baby. Those tiny hands have a big life ahead of them but for now I will hold and admire them while they’re stilly tiny and while they still want to hold onto me. Even when they let go of me, I’ll never let go of them.
