I usually sit by his crib and pat him as he slowly dozes off. This night, it was different.
As I stretched my hand into his crib, he grabbed my hand. I thought he was going to push my hand out of the crib as he would on some nights but he didn’t. He grabbed on to my hand and adjusted himself from sitting position to lying down and continued to hold my hand.
It was then I realized he wasn’t going to push my hand away. I watched him quietly as he tossed and turned for a while, at one point holding both my hands. When he finally found a comfortable position to sleep in, he grabbed my hand with both his hands and drifted off to sleep.
Looking at my sleeping son, I wanted to cry.
Those little hands holding mine were the hands I had smacked multiple times in the last two days.
Those little hands had somehow unlatched the container in the bathroom, took sticks out of the aroma diffuser, spilled some essential oil and made a big mess. Those little hands were smacked hard for that.
Those little hands loved to go to the book shelf and pull many books out and leave a big mess. Those little hands were smacked for that.
Those little hands sometimes pulled his sister’s hair and got smacked for that.
Those little hands would grab grandma’s colour pencils and markers and throw everything on the floor and then get smacked for that.
Those little hands opened the kitchen cabinet while Mama was washing dishes and pulled some bowls out, hurting Mama’s foot. Those little hands were smacked for that.
This night, those little hands were holding my hand as Breyen fell asleep.
No amount of smacking deterred those little hands from loving me.
These are the same little hands that have come to love giving flying kisses. The same little hands had, earlier this night, made some flying kisses and then been placed on Papa’s face.
My chosen have taught me many things ever since they came into my life.
This night, my 17 month old son taught me that all can be forgiven and forgotten, because love.