“Mama, hold my hand,” my 3-year-old says to me often. We hold hands as we cross the street. We hold hands as I help her with a new part on a jungle gym. We hold hands when she is uncertain in a new environment. We hold hands when we go for walks, and she delights me with her stories. Her hand clings tight to mine when she is scared or upset. She rests her hand in mine as we read stories or watch her favorite show together.
My heart melts each night she asks me to hold her hand to fall asleep. I join her in bed and she curls up against me, her head resting on my shoulder. Her small, soft hand fits perfectly into mine, her fingers lacing with mine. I lie with her, smelling the sweet scent of her shampoo. My heart breaks knowing that this time is fleeting. There will be a day when she no longer ask me to hold her hand. That she will inevitably let go.
Even when I may feel hurried or want some alone time, I hold onto these precious moments when I am her world, and she has absolute love and trust in me.
I will always say yes.
And I pray that no matter what life may bring, she will always know I will be there to hold her hand.