There's just something about baby hands... So sweet and innocent, soft tiny things in comparison to our own, and perfect symbols of how fresh and new they really are. Not to mention when they reach out and hold yours! A newborn grasping your single finger is one of the most precious things you'll ever experience...and as those hands grow, we hope that they'll continue to hold ours for just a little while. While we teach them to walk, cross the street, lead them into school, walk them down the aisle, the list goes on...we're there holding them. But sometimes holding those sweet little hands are their way of being there for us too.
Last week my three year old, Mason woke up with a terrible toothache, followed by a swollen face, an infected mouth, and pain like nobody's business! It was awful to watch him hurting like that and I wanted nothing more than to take his pain away. After doctors visits, medications and a really long weekend it was finally decided that he needed to have a tooth removed. While I struggled with the fact that my funny little red headed boy would have to go a few years without a front tooth, I suddenly realized what I was really facing. Anesthesia!! Mason would have to be put under in order to have his tooth extracted and I was petrified to say the least. After seeking advice from parents with similar experiences and some really great friends, I decided to be strong and do what was needed to fix my little guy.
Yesterday came and Mason and I headed out early for his appointment with the oral surgeon. "They just want to check your tooth," I said. I had been second guessing my plan of attack and hoped that I was doing the right thing by not scaring him to death before we had even arrived. He was so scared and cried on the ride over saying, " Mama, my teethies feel all better. I don't need no doctors." My heart broke. I reassured him all would be fine and held his hand as we walked in the office. Through check-ins and preparations and meeting nurse after nurse I held his scared little hands and promised he'd be okay.
Finally, they came in our room with a little shot that they'd use to put my boy to 'sleep'. "Lights on but nobody's home," our doctor explained. So I hugged him tight while they did their jobs and rocked him as I slowly felt him getting heavier. They said I should lay him in the chair so they could monitor him better and I reluctantly did what they asked. But I couldn't let him go completely. As he laid there drifting in and out seemingly comfortable and calm, I was now the scared one in the room. I bent down and leaned over the side of his chair and slid my fingers into his. Did he even realize my hand was there? I don't know. But somehow it didn't matter. I needed him now. I held on tightly and rubbed my fingers back and forth over his and ran my fingers through his hair while a few nurses looked on and made small talk. "Those hands!" "There's just something about baby hands." ...I could hear them talking as they watched us, and they were right. There is just something about them. We hold them for so long as we're helping them grow and sometimes when we don't even realize it, they're helping us by holding ours too. When all was said and done, Mason did a fantastic job with his surgery and we couldn't be more proud of our brave boy. He has been home recovering and you'd barely know he went through this at all. I on the other hand remember every part of it and will be forever grateful for those little hands that helped me through.