So, why am I writing this?
This is the finale. After an hour of play, the meltdown begins. The kid is arching her back like a feral cat. She does not want to go in the car seat. Most parents (me) would just brute force the straps and pray. Not Dad Crush. He kneels down in the parking lot gravel. He plays “I’m gonna get your belly!” He clicks the buckle on the count of three. When the kid finally settles, he kisses her forehead, turns on the white noise machine app on his phone, and looks up—for just a second—absolutely exhausted, but victorious.
No, not my dad. That would be weird. I mean the Dad. The archetype. Specifically, the version of him I’ve been watching over my morning coffee for the last six months.
But he showed up. He tried. And he did it with a gentleness that made me feel like maybe the world isn’t entirely doomed. 317. Dad Crush
P.S. If you are that dad and you’re reading this… pretend you didn’t. And can you please teach my husband the trick about the hair tie?
His name is Dad.
It’s not about being a perfect dad. His kid still had chocolate on her face for the entire two hours. His shirt had a spit-up stain on the shoulder. He tripped over a toy truck twice. So, why am I writing this
Romance is a man who knows where the spare diapers are. A crush is watching someone be kind when no one is watching (except for the creepy lady in the corner nursing a cold brew, i.e., me).
Here is why I am utterly, irrevocably smitten:
And there he is.
To the guy at the indoor playground: I’m not going to talk to you. That would ruin the magic. Plus, you’re probably married and I’m just here for the Wi-Fi.
This is the big one. You know the move. The toddler is screaming. Her ponytail is falling into her eyes. Without breaking eye contact with the slide, he reaches into his pocket, pulls out a spare hair tie (A SPARE!), and in one fluid motion, gathers her fine, wispy hair into a lopsided but functional pineapple on top of her head. He didn’t even flinch when he accidentally pulled a knot. He just whispered, “Oops, sorry bug.”
But thanks for reminding me that the hottest thing a person can wear isn’t a suit. The kid is arching her back like a feral cat
It’s patience.