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I Wanna Hold Your Hand

February 15, 2012

Moose is a cuddler.  If he had his way, we would fall asleep every night spooned together, tucked up in each other in the puzzle of limbs and torsos in the ways we have found where we fit together best.  If he had his way, we would watch TV together with me snug against his side, his arm around my shoulders and my head on his chest.  If he had his way, we would spend every dinner out shoulder to shoulder in the same booth seat, regardless of how small or large it is. Moose Is a pretty big guy, so you can imagine how this makes eating difficult.

Me, I’m a toucher. I prefer to lay my hand on his knee, reach out and touch his back in the night, or rub my hand over his head. We both like to hold hands, but our methods are very different. He likes to twine his fingers into mine, locking my hand to his and holding it tight. His hands are considerably larger than mine, though, and his fingers force mine apart, straining the joints.  This is not not bad on days when I feel fine.  On days when my hands hurt, I insist we hold hands my way, slipping my hand into his and cupping then together. Regardless of how, we both squeeze messages to each other, silently saying “Look over there,” “Watch out for that car,” and “Thank you.”

Over time, he has gotten to know the feel of my hands on bad days.  On these days, we hold hands lightly, my hand fitted loosely into his larger one.  His training as a massage therapist frequently leads him to rub my hands gently.  I’ll place a hand or foot within his reach, and before long he’ll pick it up and start massaging.  He doesn’t like massaging me all that much, especially my back.  Massage always hurts me quite a bit and he hates causing me pain. So I take advantage of his unconscious habit whenever I can.

At night, we compromise. We’ll cuddle up for a while, usually until he falls asleep.  Then I’ll turn over to my side of the bed.  But in the middle of the night, when the nightmares are close or my mind is much too awake, I’ll slip my hand over to his side of the bed, seeking him out.  Sometimes if I am truly lucky he’ll be on his back too.  Then I will slip my hand into his, cupping them together palm to palm, and fall asleep knowing that all I have to do is squeeze to say “I had a bad dream,” “I’m glad you’re here,” and most importantly of all, “I love you.”

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