I want to take a moment to write about something I don’t often see. Men and women in love will often wax poetic about their mates eyes, their smile, their hair, etc…but what about their hands? It was perhaps five or six days ago, I was up nursing our infant….around 2 am in the morning. I was exhausted, worn out, and my husband rolled over and put his hand on my knee. He gently rubbed his hand over my leg and left his hand there. I looked at it and surprisingly felt tears well up. I figured I was just tired and therefore over emotional, but I took a breath and looked at his hand again. Those hands have helped me through three births, they soothed my brow when I didn’t think I could push anymore. Almost ten years later he will still reach back while we are shuffling five kids through the mall, almost as if to say…I know you are there, and I will never forget or leave you. My husband is a tall man…almost 6′3″ (though he swears he is shrinking) his hands are a suitable size to his frame, and yet he will hold our tiny baby as gently as if he were holding an egg. Those hands have soothed countless tummyaches and headaches, poured cup after cup of juice, and changed tiny diapers. My husband has amazing eyes….a sort of sea green that will change from blue to green depending on what he wears. His smile is equally amazing, and occasionally he will laugh with abandon, throwing his head back and smacking his hand on his thigh (don’t get me started on those!), but his hands deserve equal attention because it is those hands that will carry me through the years when I need to be carried.