The Hand

At four months minus four days, baby’s physical strength and dexterity are impressing her mom and dad to the greatest extent that modesty will allow. Not only can she support her weight standing (though not balancing), but she can roll over on both sides, repeatedly, lift her head to a higher point than her father can, and – most impressive – grasp anything within reach of her five-finger claw, like something out of science fiction.

The first time she takes your face in one of her cute little pudgy hands, it’s hard not to feel special. “She’s reaching out to grab my face,” you think. “I will treasure this moment.” After you realize she is pulling your face toward her with more force than the laws of physics would normally permit, you might get a little leery. But, still, what’s cuter than a baby reaching out to make contact with your personhood as manifested in your just-recently unscarred visage? So far, she has eventually let go every time, though there are indications that she is merely toying with us.

Should I be so proud of her? Could I be otherwise? I never had a grip like that.