It occurs to me that one day this hand will not be so small anymore. The fingers will grow long and lean and become more dexterous. They'll spend less time grabbing at things and, hopefully, less time pulling out my hair (but that might be replaced by my own hands pulling out my hair) and more time giving, creating, doing. One day some young man may even ask to have this hand in marriage. Either way, eventually I won't be able to think of this hand as "mine" anymore. I realize it's stupid to mourn the loss of this child while she's still a child; there are just days I can't help thinking about the inevitability of it all. But... at the same time? I can't wait to see what this hand will do.