On Wednesday, I ran onto the field where Ian's Carnival Day was taking place. Late, as always. I scanned the crowd of kids looking for my blue eyed boy. Ian saw me first. He stood in front of me waiting for my eyes to focus on him. Then he grabbed my hand and didn't let go. For an hour.
That hour was sheer heaven, because when Ian was three, he couldn't hold my hand. He loved snuggling and bear hugs, but he couldn't stand the light touch of fingers on fingers. Now, he holds my hand for an hour.
Apt. 11d 