The Language of Touch

My oldest son’s love language is absolutely touch.  There is no doubt about it.  He rubs, strokes, touches, hugs, feels constantly.  When he sits next to me, he’ll grab my hand and put it on his head so that I’ll rub his head.

So, whenever I find that I have a free moment and I happen to be sitting down, you can almost bet that Scott will be in my lap.

In four months, he’ll turn six years old.  There’s going to come a day in our not so distant future when sitting on his mommy’s lap is going to be the last thing he’ll want to do.

Despite the fact that being touched makes him feel loved more than any words or actions I could convey, he’ll bypass my lap and head for other things.

But for now, I’ll just enjoy it.  I’ll hug him and kiss him and stroke him and tell him in his language how much I love him and how cherished he is.

And despite how incredibly full every minute of every day is for me, I’ll relish every single minute of it.



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