these fingers were meant for touching
From the moment each of my two boys were born, I found myself in love with their nails and tiny fingers as well as the rest of them. These days, when my younger 3-year-old allows me to hold his hand in mine for any length of time, I remain mesmerized by his fingers: how skin reveals hard works or not, manual versus servant labor, where these hands have been and how often they have dried up, gotten wet, experienced lifting, squishing, grasping…
I hold my young one’s hand, admiring his chubby, less-experienced joints, and can almost imagine the work awaiting them.
Wonderful digits; glorious growth indexes!
And it always helps to remember the anonymous saying “When you point your finger at someone, three fingers are pointing back at you.”
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