Holding Little Hands

I have three children. Only two of them will live with me forever, but at this moment, this second in the millions that fill my days, I have three beautiful children that I call my own. I like to hold the hands of my children (especially Holden’s because he will hold my hand too.) I like to snuggle with them, pull them close to my body and smell their smells. Sometimes, in the morning, I will curl up in Holden’s crib, with him, and hold him as close as he will allow. Often I wake up when the sun shines through the window and find Pearl draped across my chest where she fell asleep nursing and I smile at the beautiful shape of her body and moments with her so close to me that are all too fleeting. Because Larry is so busy I daily pick him up and hold him close and soothe him while he cries off the hurt of another tumble. I am at my best in these moments of closeness. I know my Love for them most deeply when I can feel their tiny hearts beat and listen to their quiet breathing. All of my children have slept in my bed for at least their first few months of life. When Larry was in the hospital for a few days, at just a week shy of three months old, I held him close to my chest in the reclining chair all through each night. I couldn’t put him down for fear that he would cry and I would not be already there.


Her Bad Mother asked that the blogging community write about their physical Love for their children. Read the other posts to which she links. I rarely find myself so moved as I have over the last few days reading about this Love these Mothers are brave enough to share with the internet. I hope I have managed to convey even the smallest piece of how truly powerful I find these little bodies that I am lucky enough to call my children.