We spent a long weekend away on holiday, doing a good deal of travel by car. For the first time, the girl has been comfortable holding my hand. I don't mean sort of holding like grabbing onto a finger, or guiding while walking down a street, but actual hand holding – the idle sort you do when you're just being comfortable with someone's presence.
When in the car, I usually sat next to her in the back seat, with her in the car seat. Not always, but often enough the girl would sit quietly and hold my hand. It was the first time she'd done that. It was really sweet.
It was also the first time in ages I'd had time to just sit down and watch TV with L. We were staying with L's cousin. A few times after we'd put the girl to bed we'd plop down in the comfy chairs and watch something. The weird thing was holding L's hand. I didn't recognise it. It still fit, fingers interwoven, like it has for ages. It just somehow it didn't feel familiar. I mean, we must have held hands at some point since the girl was born. I'm fairly sure, at least. Maybe her hand has changed... I know mine are much drier these days – all the extra handwashing has taken a bit of a toll. Maybe that's what feels unusual. It's hard to tell. But regardless, it was nice to have those moments to just sit together.
L has taken the lass with her to visit the family in the States. I'm back here in London getting, what I hope will be, a lot of work done. And, with luck, give the house a decent tidy – the first real opportunity to clean it without the girl being around. Time to break out the noxiously fumed floor cleaners.
