The Snuggle Is Real
My daughter laughs at me and smiles at me. Because she cannot yet speak, I am not sure what about me delights her the most. I can only speculate that perhaps she has the palate most perfectly suited for those quips, which no doubt will be written off as “dad jokes” someday too soon.
So, next time I remark “the snuggle is real” (or something of similar import) when I’m holding my wiggling, reluctant daughter to calm her enough for sleep, I will remember how pure and mutual that delight is. Neither of us knows why. But it is euphoria.