Little fingers gripping mine. One step, two steps, get your balance. Almost there. Oh the freedom these steps will bring. Needing to reach for me. I am there. I am sure. You are safe. You are loved.
Always holding hands. Together we walk. You instantly reach for me. Uppie Mommy. Reaching for me. Always reaching, knowing, trusting. I am there. I am sure. You are safe, you are loved.
You run, you play, you spin, you laugh. Then you return and you reach for me.
We are walking, the street is near, we’re talking and walking, instinct, you reach….. put your still tiny hand in mine. For you it is a habit, for me it is electric. That feeling of you, trusting me, needing me, holding my hand.
My mind races. When will the moment come when you no longer reach for me at this street, any street? I swallow hard, you look up, you smile, I smile.
You bring me beautiful crayon masterpieces of hearts and flowers and love. These are pictures of you and me, holding hands. This is who we are, reaching.
Tonight you label the picture as you always do, then you stop, you mark it out, and make a monumental change. Mommy to Mom. I ask..... You say, because I’m a big girl now. I swallow hard. Yes you are.
We walk to the car, we get to the street, I hold my breath. Will she? She does. She reaches for me. Thank you Lord.
How do I keep you reaching…..reaching…..reaching?