Pockets

My son recently discovered the utility of pockets. I slipped his little paws into his coat pockets one day when I was pushing him in the stroller. It was cold and windy and I'd neglected to bring mittens. I figured he'd instantly pull his hands out the way he did many times before -- not wanting to be restrained. After all, hands and fingers are good for pointing and waving in fits of excitement. And let's not forget about the glories of thumb sucking. But he must have been really cold and for the first time in his life, kept his busy little hands still long enough to realize that pockets really do provide a cozy, warm, resting place.

Since then he constantly retreats to the warmth of his coat pockets. He still has not caught the hang of it entirely. He sometimes has to use two hands to open the first pocket, insert hand and then fumble around searching for the second one on its own. Eventually he gets both of them in there. Perhaps that's why, once they've found their place, he's reluctant to take them out precisely when he needs them. Just the other day he was running around the backyard, arms stiff and unmoving at his sides like a mummy. He was smiling and laughing, perhaps thinking, Hey ma, look. No hands! Just then he tripped and face planted into the mound of grass beneath him, hands stuck in pockets and unable to catch himself. He looked up at me waiting for a reaction. I shot him a big, reassuring grin. He got up, dusted himself off and skipped away, arms swinging this time.