He still likes to hold my hand.
How long does that last? Does it stop tomorrow? Will it end next week?
Will I suddenly wake up and realize it’s not happening anymore?
But for now, I’ll gladly take his hand in mine. It’s not prompted. I don’t ask. I don’t demand. I don’t draw attention. We walk. I feel his warm hand slip into mine.
He doesn’t want me to rock him to sleep. He’s fine going to Grandma’s house. He talks about poop and plays with other kids. He makes his own sandwiches and ties his own shoes.
But he still likes to hold my hand.
I count my blessings. Tomorrow I will confidently walk away alone.