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Be careful, little hands


These hands.

They might be my most favorite hands of any hands that I ever did see.

They are always moving, always discovering.

They graze the folds of fabric and get tangled in his crocheted blankie.

They rub his tired eyes and reach up to be held.

They scratch at rough surfaces, feeling the vibration of his fingernails.

They grab spoons while Mommy is feeding him... so tightly, in fact, that food usually flings all over the place.

They plant firmly into the ground so he can lift up onto his knees... trying desperately to crawl.

They smack the pacifier out of his mouth when he is tired and doesn't want to fall asleep... because he knows it will make him drift off.

They cling on for dear life when the shopping cart rolls over the shopping-cart-stopper bumps.

They push buttons, pull strings, spin bobbins, grab toes, swat toys.

They provide comfort to his swelling gums.

They scratch an itch.

They pull off socks... and put them in his mouth.

They hang on when I think he's done nursing, and he thinks otherwise.

They glide over blades of grass, pluck them from the earth, open up and let the blades fall to the ground.

They grab at noses, lips, beards, hair... food off other people's plates.

They wrap around bottles.

They shake tambourines and maracas.



It won't be long before they greet hello and wave goodbye. Before they catch his balance. And give me a hug or a high five. And right now, those hands are shaking in anger because he wants to be up playing. And I miss him. So I think I might just let him. Just this once.

---------------

"Be careful little hands what you do. Oh, be careful little hands what you do. For the Father up above, He is looking down in love. Oh be careful little hands what you do."




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