Holding Hands and Letting Go

When he was a wee little thing and I would cradle him in my arms in the rocking chair, he would cry in distress every time I rubbed his back. I was befuddled. Juliana couldn't get enough of this, but this boy-child of mine seemed to actually be in pain. So instead I would pat his diaper over and over and this became our routine and replaced any form of touching his back. That's how I remember Holt's babyhood...rocking and popping that outcurve of his rear. Years later when he was finally verbal enough to make us understand, it all made sense. I had produced the world's most incredibly ticklish child. I still can't touch his back. We settle for rubbing his head, but even then you have to be careful to stay away from his neck.

But what I do want to say here is this.. he has always been one to snuggle with his mama. When he was born my friend Leslie warned me that he wouldn't allow me to rock him for long, that my time was limited and the stopwatch had already started. I've thought of that so many times since that warning was issued and waited and wondered when the timer would ding.

At school on Tuesdays he has an 8:00 class. No one, for good reason, signs her child up for an 8:00 class unless she's a teacher and there are, in fact, only 5 students in his first class. And it's the only class that runs that hour. It's the last room at the end of a very loooooong hall and as we walk down it each Tuesday, it's just the three of us, including Mouse.

So I like to hold his hand. I'm dropping him off, after all, and won't see him again until lunch. It's the first year he's had to navigate by himself and that part of me that feels that letting-go every Tuesday rips a little with each step towards that science room.

Last year I held his hand everywhere we went at school. It was never an issue. But this year there's been resistance really from Day One of first grade. I've ignored his hesitation and grabbed his little mitt and trudged on, but finally he's begun to pull away. Ouch. As we get to the end of the hall, the question "Are you gonna hug your mama?" has been met with a shake of the head.

So I brought this to Birch with a "you must fix this for me" pleading. Birch agreed he was way too young to be giving me the cold shoulder and had a long man-to-man with him. Here's the bottom line. There are older boys on that hall that might mistake him for a 6 year old if he's seen holding my hand. Birch explained to him that even big boys like to hold their mama's hand. He told me that he might have bought me one more semester and I'd better enjoy it.

To make matters worse, I came upon a letter I wrote to him five years ago when I was going through some pictures in the basement. And because I'm self-indulgent, I want it recorded here, in cyber-world, where I have no fear of losing it.

Dear Holt-
You are now two years old. Oh my! I love you so much more today than I did even when you had that awesome newborn smell. You are the sweetest boy I have ever known. I think your Neena must somehow be responsible for that. I want to always remember what you were like when you were 2...

You talk ALL the time. We can understand you about 60% of the time. Juliana gets it almost always. My favorite thing is the way you say "I don't know". It comes out "I aint know." It sounds so innocent and bewildered. Sometimes I ask you things knowing that will be your response just because I love to hear you say it.

You have no inside voice. You lay with us in bed at night and the people above us are probably beating their heads on the wall. You physically cannot whisper. We tried to get you to talk for almost two years and you are now making up for lost time.

You have an electric firetruck toothbrush with a man in a yellow hat. Every night after we brush your teeth, you say, "Goodnight man in the hat." You talk very distinctly. Daddy says you sound like the telephone operator.

You love your bup bup. This is your sippy cup with chocolate milk. Everything else you ask for by name, but the chocolate milk gets this affectionate nickname. You love ice cream and pizza and birthday cake and pickles. You also still eat bananas out of a baby food jar. A real banana makes you shudder.

You don't like to get your hands dirty. This really bothers your daddy, but I tell him not to worry. I have to take wipes to the playground because you will fixate on your hands after your first fall. You will stand and say "uh-oh" and "wipe Holt's hands, Mama". We went to the field last week and some boys had left trucks- really cool trucks like dump trucks and cranes- but they were in a big mud pit. You stood and looked at those trucks for a good 10 minutes. We could see your wheels spinning, but in the end, you couldn't overcome the mud.

You love to watch tv. I have to reign you in. Forever you called the "Wiggles" by the name "Viva". We finally figured that out. You also love Teletubbies and "People" (Little People). You remind me of your daddy. You climb up on the couch with pillows behind you and pull the blanket up and settle in for some good lounging.

You love your Ma (Grandma). You pick up the framed picture of Ma and Big and kiss it everyday. Every time we walk out the door you say "Going to Ma's house." You talk to her on the phone just about every day. You also love her because you are very into Winston. He is taking a small place in your heart now that our beloved Knoxi is no longer with us. John got you a stuffed Knoxi for Christmas that you sleep with at night.

You also sleep with Rosie, Big Monkey and Little Monkey. It's very important to you that each animal is securely under the blanket just like you. You lay down and call out "Bankie, Mama", even though you are perfectly capable of pulling it up yourself. You do this in your sleep as well.

You talk some in your sleep. I hear a lot of "Here you go, Mama" and a lot of stuff I can't decipher. Your bed is connected to ours, and if you wake up in bed alone, you will come crawl between us. You like to sleep on your Pooh pillow or mine or daddy's, depending on how the mood strikes you. You are a great snuggler, right up there with your Neena.

You love everything about Neena. You love to be in her room and her dollhouse is one of your favorite toys. You will do anything she asks, right down to learning her new ballet dances. You are concerned when she is gone, even when you know she's coming right back.

You have a hard time understanding where Nette Nette, Mi Mi Roy, and Miss Dudie have gone. "Church" means Rockdale and this will be a hard thing to explain when we finally find a church here in Louisville. You still tell us unsolicited how much you love them and we have been gone almost 2 months.

You love to play cars, pretend to cook in the play kitchen, read books, do puzzles, and draw with markers. You love to push buttons- to turn on alarm clocks or radios or the alarm to my car. "I make the car go 'beep beep', Mama!" Your favorite places to be are Juliana's room and Daddy's office. Nothing thrills you more than to play in Daddy's toolbox with the screwdrivers.

You've just started to pee pee in the potty. You ask to go about once a day and always succeed, and then immediately say "put Holt's diaper on, Mama!" You love to splash in the tub. I have to put the clear see-thru curtain between us so I don't get soaked.

These are only some of the things that make you who you are today. It is such an injustice to describing all of your wonderful complexities. I was always afraid of little boys. Now the scariest thing I can imagine is not knowing the goodness and wonder of being your mama.

I was in our snuggling chair with him later (for inquiring minds, the butt patting ended with the diapers) and told him that I bet even those big boys still liked for their mamas to rock them, and he gave me that look and said, "not at school they don't!" He had a point.

So I decided that I sure didn't want my "Holt Growing Up Crisis" to become his stress and I told him that he didn't have to hold my hand in public and I wasn't going to reach for his anymore. If he ever decided he wanted to, he could take mine. The very next day at Staples, I felt his warm little paw curl up inside mine, and I had to choke back tears right there in the envelope aisle. A victory! We were going to delay this process for a while, I was sure.

And then my friend, Ileana, whose son, Harry was the Cat in the Hat during Seussical, had Harry hold her hand at the theater in front of Holt on Saturday. Please note that Harry is a teenager of much high esteem in Holt's eyes. I pulled him over to the side and said, "Holt, look! The Cat in the Hat is holding his mama's hand. And he's waaaaaay older than 6!" I could see Holt process this and thought to myself, "This has cinched it! I've put this to bed!"

But victory was short. Yesterday was Tuesday. I walked that long hall to the science room with a swinging, lonely left hand. And I'm okay... kind of. After all, we still have the chair in my room, we still snuggle in bed under my blanket, he still likes to share my pillow and have me rub his head. He's playing his DS sitting beside me as I type this, just to be near me. Just no more PDA. And the little tear I used to hear on that long walk to science class has escalated into a painfully loud rip.