If I had a quarter for everytime CootieBoy ran up to me this weekend demanding a hug, I think I’d have about $125. I’m positive that I received about 500 hugs this weekend. He and I have varying kinds of hugs.
There’s the big hug wherein I wrap my arms around him and lift him off the ground while kissing his neck.
There’s the tiny hug wherein we barely touch as we whisper a Dr. Seussian “boop!” in each other’s ear.
There’s the racecar hug wherein I squeeze him then swiftly slide my hand down his back as though speeding around a NASCAR curve.
Of course, there are regular hugs too, where he’s just so cute that I can’t help but bring him next to me and just love on him.
We also count hugs. Sometimes he wants one, sometimes seven, sometimes one hundred. And sometimes even when he doesn’t ask we’ll count up to ten in one go.
This weekend I told him I wanted to bottle him and keep him this way forever.
“BOTTLE ME?” he asked, his dimple precociously flashing at me.
“Yes. Because you are kind of awesome right now. You rarely fuss, you have a great sense of humor, you give great hugs and you are a lot of fun.”
His response? “Awwww…….I wanna hug you RIGHT NOW!”
So I let him. Ten big racecar hugs.
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