Sometimes I think God gave me two hands just so I could scratch one child's back while I nurse the baby in the middle of the night. Other times, I think it was for making scrambled eggs and pancakes while balancing the baby on my hip.
Or maybe He gave me two hands so I could pick dandelions from our lawn and carefully tuck them behind my daughter's ear while she giggles. Or catch my son when he barrels head first down the slide on the playground in our backyard.
I use my hands to play peek-a-boo with the baby, and tickle monster with the kids. I need them to scrub shampoo in the toddlers' hair, and to pull pajamas over their heads.
With my hands, I can turn crocodile tears into rain drops and lollipops. I can heal boo-boos with my touch, and send off thousands of kisses to be caught and placed sideways on a cheek.
I want to believe that if I spread my hands wide enough, I'll be able to catch my babies before they fall, hold them tight and never let them grow. We could live in a Neverland where my babies will still need me, and my hands.