The talented Andrea Badgley used the expression “starfish hands” in a post today about Euchre and I immediately tumbled into a pit of “I can never appreciate my baby enough! Starfish hands! So perfect, so dimpled, so true! Argh! The humanity!” Yeah, my wife thinks living with me is the tops.
If my wife could birth a thousand pairs of tiny, fat, baby starfish hands that struggle to grasp perfectly, that smear snot, that get sticky from god knows what, that touch my face so, so softly when I’m telling stories, that wipe tears from big, gorgeous eyes, that topple blocks, that lay curl quietly around a stuffed bunny in sleep AND I wouldn’t have to mother those hands, I’d tell her to get on it and fast. Baby making ahoy! But the fact is, I’m good at parenting one child. I’d be a poor mother to two children. Let alone 1000.
I like to think I’d be a good mother. That my stores of patience would grow with every diaper changed. But I think I’d be so stressed about money and about doing it better the second time that Id forget to notice things like tiny fat hands. I do check now and then to see if I’m appreciating every detail of every moment (no pressure there) and I feel like I’m doing pretty well. I’m falling down on the job photographing her, but it’s hard to capture something that moves at the speed of light.
She’ll be able to play cards herself someday. Tie shoes. Make her own breakfast. Go out with friends. Those starfish hands will be long gone and since I’m tearing up right now, I’m not going to finish that thought. Or this paragraph.
You know what I’ll be doing tonight? Kissing little fingers. Assuming I can get them clean first…