I Wanna Hold Your Hand
... cross posted from our sister site, Los Angeles Moms Blog.
It was bound to happen sooner or later. I guess I just assumed it would be later.
For the first time ever, my daughter, Bella Bambina, refused to hold my hand in public. Not because she was angry with me, not because she was in a hurry, not because she was being ornery or contrarian. Just because. Just because she’s nine-and-a-half. Just because she’s growing up.
As she and her brother and I walked down a busy and very public street in Beverly Hills, and as my son sweetly slipped his little paw in mine, my daughter committed her first sin of omission (at least that I know about). She simply did not take my hand. My heart took a little dip. I walked a few more paces without saying anything. Finally, weenie that I am, I couldn’t take it and asked if she wanted to hold my hand. She looked around quickly and then shook her head, no. Not wanting her to realize how hurt I was, I pretended to pretend to pout (meaning I wanted her to believe I was pretending to pout, but in reality, I was sort of pouting) and asked why not? One beat, and then another without an answer. I could tell she was trying to think of some reasonable explanation that I would buy. “I have a book in my hand,” she finally replied. Not one to give up, I said, “Well, why don’t you put it in your other hand?” She just shook her head again.
I let it go, and with it—a little piece of my heart and her childhood.
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