I’ve got a “mommy finger.” Let’s just think of it as a mommy version of carpel tunnel.
Here’s the deal: my left index finger is often sore. It bothers me when I type or chop vegetables or hold up baby feet when changing a nappy.
But none of those actions are the cause. I just realized the other day exactly what is: I have spent 3.5 years with chubby baby fingers holding on to my index finger, tugging it while learning to pull up into a sitting position, jerking it when trying to walk but taking another tumble instead, and yanking it when getting excited and wanting to run with me to experience a new adventure.
It’s one of the bodily pains I’ve consistently experienced in recent years that I actually enjoy, because it signifies the littleness, the closeness, the dependence of my tiny guys.
All too soon that need for mommy’s finger will go away – the boys will grow up before I know it, and while I’m hoping there will forever be plenty of hugs, kisses, and hand holding, the tugs on my single index finger will become increasingly less frequent.
And there is just something fabulous in that gesture that characterizes the sweetness of this season of life – being the mommy to little ones.