|photos by the lovely L.Taylor Photography|
As I do the dishes, I am suddenly aware of an absence in the kitchen. I turn from the pan I'm scrubbing and walk to the bedroom. "Are you sleeping?"
He grunts at me from under a tornado of blankets, twisted around him just the way he likes. "Come snuggle with me."
I hesitate for a moment, pondering the work I'd be prolonging by joining him. There are always dishes to be done, always a house to vacuum, always a bathroom to scour. But there he is, all bundled up, and I know if I decline I'll regret it for the rest of my existence, dramatic or not.
So I sneak through the tangle of comfort he's barricaded himself inside, and he tells me with serious eyes, "this is a nap. You know what's different between sleeping together and napping together? When you're sleeping, you just sleep. When you're napping, you cuddle." And then he wraps me up in his arms and hums the 12 days of Christmas in my ear.
And I swear every day I think I couldn't love him more, but that would be a sad thing, wouldn't it?