by humanmama on December 11, 2013

There’s something about being age 7. It’s magical. I’ve spoken to so many parents who say “my kid was never a cuddler, but now s/he’ll curl up next to me on the couch and chat, or watch TV, or play a game!” Age seven is old enough to know the rules, to understand directions, to buckle yourself into your seat, but still cute enough to be called a “little girl,” or a “little boy.”

I’m starting to think age seven was invented for parents, just when you’re about to lose your mind, as a reminder that this was all worth the suffering.

Oh, she has her moments. All kids do! But this kid, who as a baby wouldn’t be caught dead in my lap, will lay with me in bed for an hour, reading and talking about stuff. She talks to me honestly, more so than a very little girl, but also with hope and innocence. (O! To keep that hope and innocence!) Sometimes when I hold her hands, it amazes me. They’re young and strong but not baby-like. I guess it takes me by surprise because I’ve held the hands of 1- and 2- and 3- and 4-year-olds so often, and they’re so cute and chubby and sweaty and sticky. But at seven? Your hands are strong and cool, the kind of hands I wish I had when I shake my boss’s hand, or a new friend’s hand.

You know, there’s not really a lot of opportunities to hold the hands of a seven-year-old. So I’m pretty lucky, I guess.


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