
The baby is lying on the soft blanket, little one, and your whole heart goes: I love you SO much. So your hand pats. And the pat comes out bigger than you meant it to. The baby's face crumples, and your hand freezes in the air, and now your tummy feels heavy and confused.

Growy sits down next to you, right on the blanket. 'Your love came out at full volume,' Growy says. 'That is not a bad heart. That is a big feeling arriving through a small hand, before the hand knows how much to use.'

Growy pulls a soft white feather out from behind one ear. 'Open your palm,' says Growy. You do, and the feather settles there and floats, resting on your skin, weightless. Then you close your fingers just a little, and instantly it drops. Open again: it floats. Squeeze: it falls. Your own hand is learning, all by itself, without anybody telling it anything.

'Watch,' says Growy, and reaches over to pat the baby, and pats far too hard. Growy freezes. You giggle. 'Feather hands,' you remind Growy, and Growy tries again, soft and slow this time, and the baby makes a tiny happy sound. Growy's ears go pink. 'Thank you,' says Growy. 'Gentle is not a smaller kind of strong. Gentle is strong that knows how to be soft.'

You make feather hands and touch the baby's fingers, so lightly that the feather would still be floating, and the baby holds on to your thumb and does not let go. Growy watches, quiet and proud, and asks, 'So, little one... did we grow a little today?' You did. 'Here is your little grow for tomorrow,' says Growy. 'Make feather hands, and give one soft touch to something small.' See you tomorrow, little one.
