Soft, chubby, pale, little hands filled with curiosity; perfectly made for driving trains around the living room, beating makeshift drumsticks, throwing balls, and for holding tight to Pooh Bear's neck to help him sleep through the night.
A day will come far too soon that these sweet little boy hands will grow and become rougher, scratched, scarred from life. These precious fingers that still reach out for mine and hold on tight to me will one day reach out to hold the hand of another.
I write this as my own reminder to pause more, create more, savor more...more. These sweet, little boy hands won't stay little for very long.
1 comment:
well...if his hands are anything like mine (or yours Monica..hehe)...they will still be the same size at 40 as they were at 3!
And there's nothing wrong with that! (o:
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