There's just something about tiny hands exploring the world around them. Those pudgy little fingers with razor-like nails. The unexpected grasping and turning and inspecting that occurs between thumb and forefinger.
Nells has a petite quality to her hands. They already remind me of mine. My mom's. My Pawpaw's. Her folds and creases are deep. I envision them turning into road maps for her grandchildren to traces with their rolly-polly pointer. I can hear her tell her daughter "I don't mind. It's developing their fine motor skills."
For now, she crunches leaves and twirls twigs and discovers sights and sounds between the planes of her fingerprints. She giggles. She laughs. She squeals with delight because her hands are teaching her.