Consider yourself warned. Here comes the mush...
Walking to the post office this week with both boys in the buggy, Boy1 was talking to me and gesturing wildly with his hands. I love those hands. I watched them all the way to the post office and it made me smile for the rest of the day. Perfect little hands attached to my walking, talking, imagining, jumping little boy.
To my big, nearly-2-year-old baby's hands,
I love you.
I love you for bringing me special little presents every day, like daisies and sticks and soggy bits of toast.
I love the way you told us what Boy1 wanted before his voice could. Before we could decipher the spoken words like "bird", "tree" "please", "thank you" and "orange", you helped us all out by signing them.
Even now Boy1 no longer needs signs to make his meaning clear, you're still there to back him up. Seeing your chubby little fingers signing a new word makes my heart swell with pride. I could have melted right onto the carpet when you first signed "brother"!
I love how gentle you are. The way you stroke the baby's head so softly and hold his even littler hand. And how I don't even flinch when you go towards another baby because I know you're only going to cuddle or stroke, not hit or pinch or scratch. I can't imagine you doing any of those things, you lovely soft little paws.
I love how clever and strong you're getting. I'm so impressed at how well you can pull Boy1 up climbing frames, throw balls, draw circles, roll out dough, do puzzles and build amazing towers.
I love the way you reach up for my hand when we're walking. No longer for physical support, but just for the comfort of holding hands.
I love how you twiddle my ear when Boy1 is sleepy or poorly, and how when he's just about to drift off to sleep you stick to my cheek like a little sweaty starfish.
I love you, you sweet, soft, muddy, clever little hands. I wish you could stay just like this forever.