When Squire and I were engaged, I remember looking at the families in my ward back home. Sitting in their pews together on Sunday. As I looked across the room I felt a pang of sadness, and a tinge of horror - in almost every pew the husband sat one end with his wife at the farthest end away from him - and all their children in between! Where was the hand-holding?! The arm around the shoulder or waist?! The affectionate glances?! Why did they all look so tired and harried?! Was THIS terrible fate to be mine with the arrival of children?! NEVER! I had vowed.
In a completely unrelated story . . . at church on Sunday, I sat holding Lincoln firmly on my lap. Squire was sitting to my right, when I felt it. His hand reaching for mine. In the sweet tender way we had when we were dating. You know how it is - the slight tender brush of the fingertips on the soft side of your palm. Being surprised and delighted by the sweet gesture from my attentive husband, I reached back toward his hand with my own and started to play the hand version of "footsies." I began to tickle his hand with my own and to lace fingers with his in a quiet intimate way, but was stopped - by the cheerio he'd really been trying to give me to feed to Lincoln all along. We had to stifle our laughter upon the awkward discovery. We fed the cheerio to Lincoln, and decided to just hold hands anyways. Well we tried to hold hands before Lincoln decided it was time to play wiggle worm 20 seconds later . . . and for the rest of church.
Yeah. That cheerio was my small young family's equivalent of the four children in between, wasn't it?
For the record though, I still think my husband is attentive and sweet - even though the cheerios and sleepless nights that accompany parenthood have dulled the luster of a romantic moment or two for us. For Christmas, Squire gifted me enrollment in a six week ceramics class. Throwing pottery has been a love of mine, but I haven't had the opportunity to do it for several years. And yesterday I was able to go and throw pottery on the wheel for a few hours, baby free, worry free. My sore forearms are constant reminder to me of the thoughtful gift of my husband, and of my need to build up my arm strength before my next class. ;) Oh life!