Reaching for Little Hands: A Parent's Instinct

It's every mother's instinct: when she's walking with her children, to slide her arm to the side of her body, outstretching and then wiggling her fingers, awaiting the grasp of her small child's hand. Somehow, babies never really need to be told that their mamas' hands are there for the taking. It's so natural, and they all just seem to know what to do.

I have one child who will still reach forward and upward to clasp my hand, linking our fingers together, until we safely reach whatever our destination may be. Whether we're in the parking lot of Target, on our way into the library, on the steps of his preschool, or even strolling across our own driveway, Marshall knows that when my hand reaches out behind me, it's meant for his protection and comfort. He takes it. For those few moments, we're simply held together as mother and son.

My three other kids are long past being willing to hold their mom's hand. No matter how much they've grown, the second we step out of our car, I still find myself doing the typical mama-reach-behind. I suppose that I'm secretly hoping that one day, just one time, they'll forget how old they are, or how cool they're supposed to be, and just reach out to grab it. Wouldn't that be perfect?

For so many years, I often walked with not one, but two babies holding my hands. First Reese and Trixie were flanking me everywhere we went, and then it was Chip and Marshall. These days, with the big three in school full time, it leaves only Marshall and me most of the time. I've become accustomed to our life this way, and I'm diligently striving to cherish the few months we have together before he heads off to Kindergarten.

Just the other night, he and I were walking up the stairs together to choose some bedtime stories. We hardly ever walk side-by-side in the house, but since we were at that moment, my hand naturally reached out for Marshall to hold onto it. In an instant, his warm and crusty five-year-old fingers were touching mine.

He said to me, "Mom, I am holding your hand in the house. Can I hold your hand when we're not in the street?"

I stopped on that very step and squeezed his hand even tighter for a few extra seconds. Then, kneeling down, I explained to Marshall that holding his hand is not only for times when we're walking across busy roads, parking lots and pavement. It's for any time. For every time.

We all know that the day will come when our kids will suddenly stop doing what they've always done. They.Will.Seriously.Just.Stop. Stop calling us Mama. Stop needing our help to take a bath. Stop holding our hands to cross the street.

We cannot keep them from growing up. We can't keep them from changing and learning to be independent. We want all of that for our kids...and more. For those moments when my kids do continue to let Mark and me be there for them, I'm taking it all in...and more.

 

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