Today while walking you out to the bus, a wave of nostalgia ran over me. It dawned on me that we weren’t holding hands. You were walking by yourself. Independently of me. Almost as if you didn’t need me. Yes, yes, you are 7 years old. You certainly don’t NEED me to hold your hand. You know the path, you know the route, you’re steady on your feet. But you held my hand long after these things were in tact as a toddler.
Ya know that organic happening where we are walking next to each other and your tiny hand naturally drifts up to grab mine? You silently search for safety, or reassurance, or closeness. I accept your hand in mind, while my mind is elsewhere and my other hand is busy mommin’ in my purse, or on my phone, or signing your daily school planner. We’re holding hands and neither of us even realized. It wasn’t planned. It just happened.
Well, now I’m realizing we aren’t holding hands. We aren’t holding hands and I can’t remember the last time we did hold hands. Because you’re a big boy. Because you’re growing up. Normally I’m excited to embrace that milestone, but today, I’m feeling a little sad.
Your Mom That Still Thinks I Should Hold Your Hand Sometimes