His hand in mine
Charlie likes to hold my hand. If we are out walking, especially if it is just the two of us, he will grab my hand and hold it firmly in his. We've established a natural rhythm to our hand holding. I start walking and angle my hand back just slightly and his hand reaches up to meet mine. I don't have to look, I know his hand will just be there. Sometimes he will hold my hand if his sister is around, but most of the time he is distracted or she is demanding my attention and our hand holding is interrupted. But when it is just the two of us, we are content and happy with our joined limbs.
I don't know if Charlie holds Ryan's hand the same way when they are out just the two of them - I hope so. We've always considered Charlie our non-cuddly kid. He will dictate how close you can sit next to him on the couch and where you can place your arm - not on his leg, sometimes around his shoulders. Izzy, our super cuddly child, doesn't like to hold my hand. Most likely because she is always looking for an opportune moment to bolt away from me. But not Charlie. For a child that is always moving and never sits still, hand holding is his way of connecting and showing affection. It warms my heart every time he takes my hand.
We sat in the kindergarten classroom today for a parent-child conference with his new teacher. All the new students and their parents sat at the small rectangular tables and listened to the teacher explain what would happen the first day of kindergarten. Charlie was excited, happy to be there, listening carefully to his teacher. Sitting slightly in front of Ryan and I, he would turn around to smile at us or ask a question about what the teacher was saying now and then. About 20 minutes into the meeting, Charlie casually reached back and took my hand. My eyes welled up as I looked at his small hand in mine. Ryan noticed and smiled, but Charlie's attention stayed on his teacher.
I don't know if he did it for him, or for me. I tried to hide the tears that surfaced in the first five minutes of being in the cheerful, storybook-perfect classroom. The teacher started talking about the morning classroom routine - hang up your backpack on your hook, put your classroom folder in the wire basket, wash your hands...and picturing my little guy doing those things on his own every morning just made the tears flow. I want Charlie to feel nothing but happiness and excitement about his new school and teacher. Only silly moms cry at such wonderful new beginnings. I don't think Charlie saw my tears, but I think he knew we both needed a squeeze.
The first day is going to be hard, so hard. The first day of kindergarten is the day we send him out into the world to learn, grow, play and exist independent of us. He will thrive, he will soar, he will surpass all my expectations. I just hope he'll want to hold my hand for a little while longer.