These Hands

Every night I lie down with Katie in her bed, as she settles in for sleep.

We read a book or two {she loves Goodnight Gorilla and Birthday Monsters}, say prayers and then we always sing at least one round of Twinkle Twinkle, Little Star.  And she sings it with gusto, let me tell you.

The other night we were at the prayer part of our routine and we both put our hands together to pray and I said, “Thank you Jesus, for this day…” and she looked at my hands and touched them to hers and said, “Thank you Jesus for Mommy’s hands…”

She kept thanking Jesus for things like the pictures on her walls and her blankie and her owl bedding and her lovie, “L.C.” but all I could think about was what she said first, that she was thankful for my hands.

I know she only said it because they were right there in front of her but I started thinking about how truly thankful I am for these two hands.

The ones typing this post.

The hands that have cradled and fed three babies.  The hands that I’ve used to make lunches, pour milk, and use to stir a lot of pancake mix.

The same hands that have applied Dora and Cars band-aids and put away countless toys and helped with puzzles and changed crib sheets and wiped tears and bottoms and fastened countless diapers and pairs of shoes.

The ones that catch them when they jump to me in the pool or the ones that pat them on the back or clap at a job well done.  The ones that feel their forehead to see if it is too hot when they are feeling puny.  The ones that put their hair out of their face and hug them tight.

A Mother’s hands.

MY hands.

So yes, I am wonderfully thankful for these hands and God bless my little girl for bringing it to my attention.