I could write so much about your little hands.
I remember being in the hospital, moments after we met, and marveling at how small your little finger joints and fingernails were. It didn't even seem possible to see such familiar things presented so small. I'd put my finger in your little palm and you'd grasp instinctively with a surprising amount of force.
We spent a lot of time together in the rocking chair, you and I. I'd be feeding you - sometimes gazing at your little face, sometimes gazing at my phone, sometimes gazing at a book, and sometimes dozing just praying you'd fall asleep because my alarm was due to go off sooner than I'd like. In these moments, you were sometimes restless - kicking your legs about or moving your arms haphazardly. In these moments I'd extend my index finger and you'd clamp your little hand around it and somehow find stillness as you nursed yourself back to sleep.
When you were very small we'd walk around our yard or our street. I'd extend my index finger to you and you'd hold it as we sought out new adventures (to you).
You're starting to fuss in the car. I reach back to give you a sippy cup, a cheerio, or a toy. I'll never forget the feeling of your chubby little fingers surrounding mine as I pass treasure into your hands.
After dinner, after bath, we spend a little time cuddling on the couch. Downtime before bedtime begins. It usually starts with a little TV and always ends with books. You nestle into the crook of my arm as we read together (progressing from board books to picture books, to easy chapter books, and tonight you read a couple of books to me). But as we watch TV (or more specifically, as you watch TV and I browse on my phone or read a book) you reach to hold my hand because you're really enjoying The Grinch (even though it's still technically summer...).
"Care to hold hands?" you say from the backseat. I say "Yes!" of course, and reach back. The joke is that you give me silly things the first two times - a stuffed animal ("ooh, your hand is so soft!!") or a water bottle ("oh man, your hand is so cold!") - and the third time you give me the real deal. Occasionally, your ask me if we can hold hands forever. Yes, please. Let's.
Your hands as they grasp my face to give me a kiss. Or to use my legs as a means to pull yourself up to a standing position. Reaching for me in the parking lot ("there are lots of cars, let's be safe!"), or as you get onto your bike. Asking me to pick you up (I don't want to admit that a time will come where this will be impossible for me to physically do), or to spin you around, or to help you reach something. As I clip your little fingernails - first a process of pinning you down, then of bribing you with TV/iPad, and now just saying "let's cut these bad boys!".
I can't even imagine your hands being bigger than mine, but I know they will be someday. I can't imagine them calloused or rough. I can't fathom what it will be like to feel the cool metal of a wedding band on your finger.
I'll forever remember your chubby little fingers grasping mine as you drift off to sleep or try to navigate your way across the living room floor. Or your warm hand as we walk from the car to the beach, talking about how much fun our day will be.
Your sweet voice asking "care to hold hands?".