Such Small Hands

If nothing ever changed, there'd be no butterflies.
-Anonymous

Last Tuesday I got out of work early and walked (rather than drove) to pick up N from school. Making our way down the front steps of Prescott there was a hot wind blowing. The sunlight caught the side of her cheek as she smiled at me. We grabbed hands and crossed the street together.

From that first step onto the cross-walk to the last step on the front porch I listened to the melodious sound of a six year old babble about school. She rendered the latest and greatest song from music class, listed what different kids ate for lunch (“oh, by the way, mom, couldn’t you throw a dessert into my lunch-box just a little more often?”), and she mentioned liking the smell of her teacher’s perfume when she gets a hug.

Subtract the sunlight, the hot wind and I’m left with a moment that isn’t uncommon.

In the daily grind of dinner, dishes, bedtime, laundry…rinse, lather, repeat… I often forget to relish in what an affectionate creature N is. It goes without notice, sometimes, how she'll instinctively hold my hand, or even delight in our being together.

It won't always be like this. She'll bound across streets with or without me. Grow into an adult who never gives a second thought as to how hard it was to tie her own shoes.

Everything changes eventually. Even the smallness of her hands. Our relationship will change accordingly. Being a parent often conjures a lesson I keep learning, forgetting, and learning again that you have to love what you have while you have it.