the one that reaches to high-five mine after tasks well done
the one that I reach for several times a day as we get out of the car
the one that I hold as we walk on sidewalks, in parking lots, and if I am lucky, in stores
the one that holds up two, sometimes three, fingers as he negotiates how many more bites from his dinner he must eat
the one that writes MAtTheW like a champ now
the one that on occasion touches my face gently as he cuddles close when he's falling sleep
the one that its owner just hollered, "Tosha, my fingernails are dirty!"