These hands..

I sat today, on our sofa, watching some mindless television when Samuel brought over his blanket to sit by my side.  He tucked us both in under it and put his head on my chest, his hand in mine.  I looked down at our hands, and felt that deliciously warm feeling a mother gets when she's having a 'moment' with one of her children.

I looked at his hand in mine, traced my fingers gently over his chubby ones.  I love that stage, while they're little when their hands are still chubby and dimpled.  It goes away far too early, making way for the long, lean lines of an older child.

Just minutes later we were joined by said older child.  He sat on my lap and put his hand on both of ours.  Those long fingers were one of the first things we noticed about our Alexander when he was born (the joke was he'd either be a concert pianist or a very good pick-pocket).  I traced those fingers, the lean hand, the mysterious line that appeared on his right ring fingernail when he was 2.  Perfectly straight, a vertical line all the way down the fingernail.

Our hands all entwined, two soft heads resting on me, for a little while there, all was right in our world.

 

Their father of course, has hands that I've loved since the first moment they touched my face, just moments before our first real kiss. Fingers that tenderly traced their way from my eyes to my chin, stopping first to trace my lips.  He has big hands, manly hands.  Adorned by just the ring I placed on his finger 13 years ago.  Slightly calloused, rougher than they once were, but still young and beautiful.  Just like him.

I feel sometimes like I live for those hands.  They fit perfectly around my own, the thumb rubbing gently over my fingers.  I remember perfectly the way they did that through the ceremony that made us husband and wife, and the gentle touch of them later, in our own private joining.  When I'm anxious, I lay my head on his lap and feel those fingers stroke my head, running through my hair, almost chasing away the blackness.  Hands on either side of my face as he kisses me.  Hands worshipping me, guided by the moonlight on our skin.

 

Three completely different sets, but all of them cradle my heart and own my soul.