My Baby Girl's Hands

Exactly one month ago today, I held my fourth baby in my arms for the first time.  I finally held my baby girl...my daughter!  I couldn't believe it when my doctor said, "Girl!"  I looked at my husband and said, "What?"  He said, "It's a girl, it's a girl."  I cried so hard I'm pretty sure I should have installed windshield wipers on my eyes because even when they held her up, I couldn't see her through all the tears.  I knew she was beautiful...and I knew she was mine.

I think every time a parent holds his or her child for the first time, they just want to study all those tiny details and memorize them - the tiny nose, eyes, cheeks, lips, eyebrows, eyelashes, and every hair on that head.  I would close my eyes and try to see all the details in my mind so that I would never forget.  As well as memorizing all those facial features, I know I always want to see my baby's hands and feet. They're so delicate; so tiny.  Those fingers immediately close around my giant finger as if to say, "don't ever let me go."  It is the sweetest moment to feel my baby's hand wrapped around my finger.

My newborn daughter's hands are a carbon copy of my own...only much smaller.  My father always used to tell me that the first thing he noticed about me after my arrival into this world was my hands.  He said he would hold me and just look at my hands and wonder what on earth I would do with those long fingers.  He would dream of all the things I could do with my hands.  It's ironic to me that he would love my hands so much because they are his hands - only the feminine version.  And his hands were his father's.  I remember my grandfather's hands very well.  It is one of the things I remember about him most even though he passed away when I was very young.  His hands were strong, but gentle.  They showed his age and his life's work as a photographer for sure.  His compassion and love for me as his granddaughter showed in his deeds - done with his hands.  My father's hands looked just like my grandfather's, only the younger version.  I loved holding on to my father's hand.  I knew he'd never let me go.

So, my daughter has those hands now.  I look at them and I see my family.  I see myself, my father, and my grandfather.  Like my father, I too look at her hands and those beautiful long fingers and wonder what she will do with them.  What will she create with them?  Who will she hug with them?  Who will one day ask for one of those hands in marriage?  Will she too look at her baby's hands and see her own?

I have been waiting to meet my daughter for a very long time...actually all my life.  I have three beautiful sons, whom I love with every fiber of my being, but there is something unique to the mother/daughter relationship.  I always knew she was in heaven waiting to join our family.  I knew I needed to trust the Lord and His timing.  She's finally here.  I finally get to look her in the eyes every day and see a future for her. I finally get to hold her hand and tell her I love her, and I'll always protect her.  I finally get to look at her hands and see a piece of myself that she will always have.  Perhaps, when she is older and is gardening or writing or praying or cooking or sewing or hugging her own children, she will notice her hands and she will see me.  Hopefully, she'll see me and feel in her heart the immense love I have for her, have always had for her, and will always have for her.  God gave me this incredible gift.  I am blessed.  My family is blessed.