Snuggle Baby Quotes

They pulled apart when Keefe shouted, "YOU GUYS HAVE TO SEE THIS!" They ran to the main room and found Keefe standing under the skylight, holding up Mr. Snuggles like it was a baby lion about to be made king. The sparkly red dragon twinkled almost as much as Keefe's eyes as he said, "I went in to check on our boy and found him cuddling with THIS!" "Isn't that the same dragon Fitz brought to your house that one time?" Dex asked Sophie. "WHAT?" Keefe shouted. "YOU KNEW AND YOU DIDN'T TELL ME?!" "Mr. Snuggles wasn't my secret to share," Sophie said. "IT'S NAME IS MR. SNUGGLES?! That is... I can't even..." Keefe ran back to Fitz's room shouting, "ARE YOU MISSING YOUR SNUGGLE BUDDY?!" "Fitz is going to die of embarrassment, you know that, right?" Biana asked.

Keefe shouted, "YOU GUYS HAVE TO SEE THIS!" They ran to the main room and found Keefe standing under the skylight, holding up Mr. Snuggles like it was a baby lion about to be made kind. The sparkly red dragon twinkled almost as much as Keefe's eyes as he said, "I went in to check on our boy and found him cuddling with this!

Anna mews next to me like a baby kitten and snuggles closer, her knee rubbing my thigh. And, oh, bugger me... her hand lands on my lower stomach. Just a few inches south, and I would be a happy man.

Toasted almond pancakes. Sweet soft 'okays'. Makin' me laugh more in a few weeks than I have in decades. 'Yes, Daddys' I feel in my dick. The first voicemail you left me, babe. I saved it and I listen to it once a day. If I lose focus, I see you on your back, knees high, legs wide, offering your sweet, wet pussy to me. You smile at me in bed every time you wander outta my bedroom in my shirts, my tees, or your work clothes and honest to Christ, it sets me up for the day. And no matter what shit goes down, I get through it knowin' whichever bed I climb into at night, you're in it ready to snuggle into me or give me what I wanna take. Your girl, a headache. You, never. And in a life that's been full of headaches, babe, having that, there is no price tag. You gotta get it and do it fuckin' now that there's a lotta different kinds of give and take. And you give as good as you get, baby, trust me.

But why is it that if you imagine a baby who smells of milk, for example, you can't help smiling? Why is there such an agreement around the world about what is or isn't a foul smell? Who decided what smells bad? Is it impossible that somewhere in this world there are people who, if they sat next to a homeless fellow they'd get the urge to snuggle up to him, but if they sat next to a baby they'd get an urge to kill it?

Why are you sad?" Baby asked. "Because some day you'll fly higher than high, and the blue will fill your eyes, and maybe you'll forget to come down," said Wishmoley. Baby snuggled next to him. "I'll never forget," she said.

You could have mentioned that this kid never sleeps,” Tim calls from the living room. We go in to find him slumped in the easy chair next to the pulled-out sofa bed. Andy’s sprawled out on the bed, long tan legs in a V, George gathered in her arms. Duff, still in his clothes, lies across the bottom, Harry curled in a ball on the pillow under Andy’s outstretched leg. Safety, as much as could be found, must have lain in numbers.Patsy’s fingering Tim’s nose and pulling on his bottom lip, her eyes wide-blue open. “Sorry, man,” Jase says. “She’s usually good to go at bedtime.” “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve read If You Give a Mouse a Cookie to this kid? That is one fucked-up story. How is that a book for babies?” Jase laughs. “I thought it was about babysitting.” “Hell no, it’s addiction. That friggin’ mouse is never satisfied. You give him one thing, he wants something else, and then he asks for more and on and on and on. Fucked up. Patsy liked it, though. Fifty thousand times.” Tim yawns, and Patsy snuggles more comfortably onto his chest, grabbing a handful of shirt. “So what’s doin’?” We tell him what we know—nothing—then put the baby in her crib. She glowers, angry and bewildered for a moment, then grabs her five pacifiers, closes her eyes with a look of fierce concentration, and falls very deeply asleep.

YOU GUYS HAVE TO SEE THIS!” They ran to the main room and found Keefe standing under the skylight, holding up Mr. Snuggles like it was a baby lion about to be made king. The sparkly red dragon twinkled almost as much as Keefe’s eyes as he said, “I went in to check on our boy and found him cuddling with this!” “Isn’t that the same dragon Fitz brought to your house that one time?” Dex asked Sophie. “WHAT?” Keefe shouted. “YOU KNEW AND YOU DIDN’T TELL ME?!” “Mr. Snuggles wasn’t my secret to share,” Sophie said. “IT’S NAME IS MR. SNUGGLES?! That is . . . . I can’t even . . .” Keefe ran back to Fitz’s room shouting, “ARE YOU MISSING YOUR SNUGGLE BUDDY?!” “Fitz is going to die of embarrassment, you know that, right?” Biana asked.

Eva seemed to be on some sort of mission to work her evil/cute baby magic on me. Ever since she'd started toddling around on those chubby little legs, she'd been targeting me, the least enthusiastic baby person in the room. I think she enjoyed the challenge, which proved that we were related. Eva would tug on my pants leg until I picked her up. And then she'd basically stare me down with those big blue-grey eyes of hers, daring me not to snuggle her. It was like facing down a tiny, diapered mastermind. And of course, I caved. I snuggled her. I babbled. I read her Where the Wild Things Are until I was hoarse. I actually found myself watching my language. Shudder.

This is why mothers have more babies. We forget about the pain and discomfort and wild inconvenience of pregnancy and childbirth so we can feel that heavenly feeling of holding a warm baby snuggled and content against our chests again. It's like nothing else in this world.

So I turn and tug her against me, taking five more minutes to snuggle with my baby girl. I don’t open my eyes, but I smile when I feel Ollie’s quiet presence as he crawls in on the other side and presses his back against mine. I can hear the soft flick of the pages in his book as he turns them. It’s the coziest moment.

They pulled apart when Keefe shouted, 'YOU GUYS HAVE TO SEE THIS!' They ran to the main room and found Keefe standing under the skylight, holding up Mr. Snuggles like it was a baby lion about to be made king. The sparkly red dragon twinkled almost as much as Keefe's eyes as he said, 'I went in to check on our boy and found him cuddling with this!' 'Isn't that the same dragon Fitz brought to your house that one time?' Dex asked Sophie. 'WHAT?' Keefe shouted. 'YOU KNEW AND YOU DIDN'T TELL ME?!' 'Mr. Snuggles wasn't my secret to share,' Sophie said. 'ITS NAMES IS MR. SNUGGLES?! That is....I can't even...' Keefe ran back to Fitz's room shouting, 'ARE YOU MISSING YOUR SNUGGLE BUDDY?!' 'Fitz is going to die of embarrassment. You know that, right?' Biana asked. Down the hall, Sophie could hear Keefe laughing hysterically.

But why is it that if you imagine a baby who stinks to high heaven. But why is it that if you imagine a baby smells of milk, for example, you can't help smiling? Why is there such agreement about the world what is or isn't foul smell? Who decided what smells bad? Is it impossible that somewhere in this world there are people who, if they sat next to a homeless fellow, they'd urge to snuggle up to him, but if they sat next to a baby they's get an urge to kill it?

I have one memory that catches in me like a nasty clump of blood. Marian was dead about two years, and my mother had a cluster of friends over for afternoon drinks. One of them brought a baby. For hours, the child was cooed over, smothered with red-lipstick kisses, tidied up with tissues, then lipstick smacked again. I was supposed to be reading in my room, but I sat at the top of the stairs watching. My mother finally was handed the baby, and she cuddled it ferociously. Oh, how wonderful it is to hold a baby again! Adora jiggled it on her knee, walked it around the rooms, whispered to it, and I looked down from above like a spiteful little god, the back of my hand placed against my face, imagining how it felt to be cheek to cheek with my mother. When the ladies went into the kitchen to help tidy up the dishes, something changed. I remember my mother, alone in the living room, staring at the baby almost lasciviously. She pressed her lips hard against the baby's apple slice of a cheek. Then she opened her mouth just slightly, took a tiny bit of flesh between her teeth, and gave it a little bite. The baby wailed. The blotch faded as Adora snuggled the child, and told the other women it was just being fussy. I ran to Marian's room and got under the covers.

Gabriel nudged her with his shoulder. "Look." The newborn goat was standing on his own wobbly legs, taking drunken steps. When he toppled sideways, he bleated indignantly. Gabriel started to reach for him, but Penny held him back. "Wait." Marigold roused herself and ambled over to her kid, licking him about the head until George lurched and swayed himself to his hooves, and when he nosed at her swollen underside, she allowed him to nurse. "Oh. That's lovely." Penny snuggled under Gabriel's arm. "Thank God she finally took to him," he said. "How could she not? Look how adorable he is. Best little goat in the world.

Turning his head, Roman looked at Luke. He was sleeping like a baby, foolishly oblivious to what a monster he was snuggled up to.

They were a fragile house of cards by an open window … and I was the breeze. I had to go. I wouldn’t get to say goodbye to Grace … I couldn’t go back. I’d lose my nerve. This punched me right in the heart, made me feel like I couldn’t breathe. My baby … I’d seen her for the last time and I didn’t even know it. I’d kissed her face and snuggled her and smelled her head and I didn’t savor it, I didn’t hold it in … She was more mine than she ever was Annabel’s. She’d always be mine, even when she didn’t remember a thing about me.

I used to think babyhood was the neediest stage of life, but teenagers need their parents just as much—maybe even more. A baby needs a snuggle, some eye contact, a song. A teenager needs a trusted adult to talk things out with when they or a friend gets into a scary situation.

She did love Stan, but it was different. A different kind of love. Trusting, sedate. It went with pet fish, in fishbowls – not that they had one of those – and with cats, perhaps. And with eggs for breakfast, poached, snuggled inside their individual poachers. And with babies. Once

They pulled apart when Keefe shouted, “YOU GUYS HAVE TO SEE THIS!” They ran to the main room and found Keefe standing under the skylight, holding up Mr. Snuggles like it was a baby lion about to be made king. The sparkly red dragon twinkled almost as much as Keefe’s eyes as he said, “I went in to check on our boy and found him cuddling with this!” “Isn’t that the same dragon Fitz brought to your house that one time?” Dex asked Sophie. “WHAT?” Keefe shouted. “YOU KNEW AND YOU DIDN’T TELL ME?!” “Mr. Snuggles wasn’t my secret to share,” Sophie said. “IT’S NAME IS MR. SNUGGLES?! That is . . . . I can’t even . . .” Keefe ran back to Fitz’s room shouting, “ARE YOU MISSING YOUR SNUGGLE BUDDY?!” “Fitz is going to die of embarrassment, you know that, right?” Biana asked. “I didn’t know he had a stuffed dragon,” Della said. “I wonder where he got it.” “Elwin gave it to him when Alden was sick,” Sophie explained. “And Elwin named him.” “Wow, you really know my brother super well, don’t you?” Biana asked. Sophie’s cheeks flushed. “Well . . . we have to do a lot of trust exercises.” Dex sighed. Down the hall, Sophie could hear Keefe laughing hysterically. “I better make sure Fitz is still talking to me,” she said. “You should be worried about me,” Keefe told her, stalking back into the room. “You deprived me of the Snuggles—that cannot be forgiven! Actually it can, but you have to convince Fitz to call himself Lord of the Snuggles from now on.” Sophie laughed. “I’ll see what I can do.” Fitz’s door was closed, so she knocked before going in. “I told you, Mr. Snuggles’s visiting hours are over,” he called through the door. “What about your visiting hours?” she asked. “Oh! I thought you were Keefe.” Sophie pushed open the door. “I get that a lot.” “YOU SHOULD BE SO LUCKY!” Keefe shouted from the main room. Fitz had Mr. Snuggles perched on his lap, and the sparkly dragon looked almost defiant. Like, Yeah, I’m cute and glittery—what’s it to you? “So . . . I guess the secret’s out,” she said. “Looks like it. You’d think almost dying would earn me a little slack.” “NOT WHEN YOU’RE CUDDLING WITH A GLITTERY DRAGON, DUDE!” Keefe shouted.

Then my job here is done,” Big Tag said. Charlotte’s hand came up, gently hitting her husband in the chest. “Don’t call the police. I can handle it. Get me a nail gun.” Big Tag’s lips curled up. “She talks in her sleep. She says the sweetest things. Here’s your nail gun, baby. Take him out.” “Fucker thinks he can come into my house.” Charlotte snuggled closer to her husband. They had an interesting relationship.

You know--a little rosy baby boy at your bosom, and what husband's heart is not touched, seeing his wife nursing his child! A plump little rosy baby, sprawling and snuggling, chubby little hands and feet, clean tiny little nails, so tiny that it makes one laugh to look at them; eyes that look as if they understand everything. And while it sucks it clutches at your bosom with its little hand, plays. When its father comes up, the child tears itself away from the bosom, flings itself back, looks at its father, laughs, as though it were fearfully funny, and falls to sucking again. Or it will bite its mother's breast when its little teeth are coming, while it looks sideways at her with its little eyes as though to say, 'Look, I am biting!' Is not all that happiness when they are the three together, husband, wife and child? One can forgive a great deal for the sake of such moments. Yes, Liza, one must first learn to live oneself before one blames others!

Mom?” “Yes.” “Nothing.” “What is it, baby?” “Well it’s just that wouldn’t it be great if mattresses had spaces for your arm, so that when you rolled onto your side, you could fit just right?” “That would be nice.” “And good for your back, probably, because it would let your spine be straight, which I know is important.” “That is important.” “Also, it would make snuggling easier. You know how that arm constantly gets in the way?” “I do.” “And making snuggling easier is important.” “Very.

As I reflect back on all of the years of our family’s life together, what I remember best is not the mountains of dirty dishes and pots and pans and socks left on the floor and piles of laundry. I reflect instead on precious times shared with Clay, the kids, and those we welcomed into our home—snuggling on the couch together, nursing babies and rocking them to sleep, sharing movies and huge bowls of popcorn, comforting children after a nightmare, and all those heartfelt kisses and cards that said “I love you!

Quiet, you.” Ash turned to address Rosa. “So because he’s gay, he can get all up in your boobs and that’s okay? What is it with gay guys and boobs? You don’t even enjoy them!” “Not true,” Dex said, snuggling against Rosa. “They’re very comfortable.” Rosa rolled her eyes, her attention returning to Dex. “Aw, poor baby. What’s the matter?” Dex threw a hand toward the bar. “My life is ruined.” “Is that your ex talking to Sloane?” “Yep.” “They’re laughing together.” “Yep.” Rosa cringed. “Ooh, your ex is spilling the beans, isn’t he?” “Apparently, in exchange for being my friend, Lou gets to tell Sloane whatever he wants to know. Sloane knows about the Waking Dead, Rosa! The Waking Dead!” “I…

And once they have children, the most difficult times will seem to them happy, so long as there is love and courage. Even toil will be a joy, you may deny yourself bread for your children and even that will be a joy. They will love you for it afterward; so you are laying by for your future. As the children grow up you feel that you are an example, a support for them; that even after you die your children will always keep your thoughts and feelings, because they have received them from you, they will take on your semblance and likeness. So you see this is a great duty. How can it fail to draw the father and mother nearer? People say it’s a trial to have children. Who says that? It is heavenly happiness! Are you fond of little children, Liza? I am awfully fond of them. You know—a little rosy baby boy at your bosom, and what husband’s heart is not touched, seeing his wife nursing his child! A plump little rosy baby, sprawling and snuggling, chubby little hands and feet, clean tiny little nails, so tiny that it makes one laugh to look at them; eyes that look as if they understand everything. And while it sucks it clutches at your bosom with its little hand, plays. When its father comes up, the child tears itself away from the bosom, flings itself back, looks at its father, laughs, as though it were fearfully funny, and falls to sucking again. Or it will bite its mother’s breast when its little teeth are coming, while it looks sideways at her with its little eyes as though to say, ‘Look, I am biting!’ Is not all that happiness when they are the three together, husband, wife and child? One can forgive a great deal for the sake of such moments. Yes, Liza, one must first learn to live oneself before one blames others!

What no one tells you is that there will be a last time you ever carry your child. A last time you tuck them in. A last time they run into your arms off the school bus. All through his infancy, Dylan was attached to me, almost literally. I nursed him, and he was fussy, so I carried him almost constantly, patting his back, humming to him, breathing in his delicious baby scent. He didn’t walk till he was fourteen months old, and I loved that, because I got to carry him that much longer. I took him for hikes in a backpack, his little knees hitting my ribs. I carried him on my shoulders, him clinging to fistfuls of my hair. I loved every minute. He was an affectionate boy full of drooly kisses and cuddles. He was generous with his hugs, from Paul at the post office to Christine, our librarian. And especially with me. Every night when I read him bedtime stories, his sweet little head would rest against my shoulder, and he’d idly stroke my arm, smelling like Dove soap and baby shampoo. Driving in the car was like a tranquilizer dart for Dylan . . . even bumping down our long dirt road wouldn’t wake him up, and I’d park the car, get out and unbuckle him, then lift his sweaty little body into my arms to carry him inside and just sit on the couch with him in my arms, heart against heart. And then one day, he no longer needed that. The bedtime stories stopped when he was about ten and wanted to read to himself. The last time I attempted to carry him from the car, he woke up and said, “It’s okay, Mom. I’m awake.” He never needed that again. Had someone told me “This is the last time you’ll get to carry your son,” I would have paid more attention. I would have held him as long as I could. They don’t tell you that your son will stop kissing you with sweet innocence, and those smooches will be replaced with an obligatory peck. They don’t tell you that he won’t want a piggyback ride ever again. That you can’t hold his hand anymore. That those goofy, physical games of chasing and tickling and mock wrestling will end one day. Permanently. All those natural, easy, physical gestures of love stop when your son hits puberty and is abruptly aware of his body . . . and yours. He doesn’t want to hug you the same way, finding your physicality perhaps a little . . . icky . . . that realization that Mom has boobs, that Mom’s stomach is soft, that Mom and Dad have sex, that Mom gets her period. The snuggles stop. This child, the deepest love of your life, won’t ever stroke your arm again. You’ll never get to lie in bed next to him for a bedtime chat, those little talks he used to beg for. No more tuck-ins. No more comforting after a bad dream. The physical distance between the two of you is vast . . . it’s not just that he’ll only come so close for the briefest second, but also the simple fact that he isn’t that little boy anymore. He’s a young man, a fully grown male with feet that smell like death and razor stubble on his once petal-soft cheeks.

Somehow he released her hand and pulled his free. He wrapped his arms around her and hauled her against him so her entire body pressed against his. The man was a rock. Big, unyielding and warmed by the sun. She wanted to snuggle even closer. She wanted to rip off her clothes and give the goats something to talk about. She wanted-- He licked her lower lip. The unexpected moist heat made her gasp as fire raced through her. Every singed nerve ending vibrated with need for more. The masculine, slightly piney scent of him surrounded her. Operating only on instinct, she parted her lips to allow him entry. She had a single heartbeat to brace herself for the power of his tongue touching hers. Then he swept inside and blew her away. It was like being inside the space shuttle on take-off. Phoebe might not have any personal experience with space flight, but she could imagine. The powerful force between them left her weak and clinging to his broad shoulders. She trembled and needed and ached with equal intensity. His tongue brushed against hers again. He tasted of coffee and mint and something wonderfully sensual and sweet. His mouth seemed designed for kissing. Maybe it was all that non-conversation. Maybe talking too much undermined a man’s ability to kiss. She didn’t know and didn’t care. All that mattered was the way he stroked her, touched her, teased her. He cupped her head with one hand and ran his other up and down her back. If only this moment would never end. But it did. A sharp bark from somewhere in the distance brought Phoebe back to earth with a rude thunk. She suddenly became aware of being pressed up against a really good-looking stranger, kissing in front of a goat pen. Apparently Zane got a similar wake-up call, because he stepped back at the same second she did. At least the man was breathing hard. She would hate to think she was the only one who had been affected. “Okay, then,” she said when she realized that all feelings to the contrary, she still could breathe. Zane continued to stare at her. She swallowed. “Did you want to say something?” Anything would be fine. Just any old reaction. As long as he wasn’t going to say it was all a mistake. That would really annoy her. Or maybe she was making a big deal out of nothing. Maybe he kissed lots of women out here by the goat pens. “I have to get back to work. Can you find your way to the house?” She blinked at him. That was it? Okay. Fine. As long as she didn’t try to walk on legs that were still trembling, she could pretend nothing had happened. “Sure,” she muttered. “No problem.” He nodded, then bent down and picked up his hat. She frowned. When exactly had that fallen off? He straightened, opened his mouth, then closed it. She wasn’t even surprised when he turned and left without saying a word. It was just so typical. When she was alone, Phoebe tried to work up a case of righteous indignation. When that didn’t work, she went for humor. If nothing else, she had to give Maya credit for the promised distraction. Oh. She also had to remember that as soon as she found out what constituted a treat on the baby-goat food hit list, she would be sure to send a thank-you gift.

I’m not leaving this cabin again until you’ve laid your egg.” Kellan snuggled up to Vic. “Our egg, remember?” “Mmm. Our baby.” Vic buried his nose in Kellan’s hair. “This is all so surreal, but I couldn’t be more thrilled.” They held each other in silence, the only sound being the rustle of the branches in the light wind and the crackle of the well-seasoned wood in the fireplace. Part of what Vic had said sunk in. “Hey, Vic?” “Yeah?” “You can’t stay here round the clock with it being so busy at the inn and everything. It’s Christmas week. I’ve heard you say plenty of times that it gets crazy between now and New Year’s Day.” Vic tightened his hold. “I don’t care.” Kellan rolled his eyes. “But it’s not fair to everyone else. It’s bad enough that I’m not there helping as it is.” He glanced up at Vic. “And what about food?” They took most of their meals at the restaurant since it was so convenient. Vic stuck out his lower lip. “I’ll make Dora deliver them to the cabin.” Kellan sighed. “Vic, you’re not being reasonable.” He huffed. “Reasonable? Who cares about reasonable? My mate is about to lay an egg at any minute!” Kellan let out a laugh, then grabbed his abdomen. It didn’t hurt, but it sure as hell felt weird. Too much pressure. Vic gasped, grabbing Kellan’s upper arms then holding him back, his gaze roaming Kellan’s body. “Is it time? Should you go lie down in the nest?” This is going to be fun

It was a Sunday at the end of November, which meant summertime in Australia. My water broke at night, and this time I knew what was coming. I remember thinking, There’s no turning back now. Immediately after my water broke, the contractions started. I had been sleeping in Bindi’s room because I was so awkward and uncomfortable that I kept waking everybody up. Plus, Bindi loved being able to snuggle down in bed with her daddy. I crept into their room quietly. As I stood beside the bed, I leaned in next to Steve’s ear. I could feel his breath. He smelled warm and sweet and familiar. He is going to be a daddy again, I thought, his favorite job in the world. When I whispered “Steve,” he opened his eyes without moving. Bindi slept on at his side. It was about midnight, and I told Steve that we didn’t have to leave for the hospital yet, but it would be soon. Once he was satisfied that I was okay, I headed back to Bindi’s bed to get some rest. Throughout our life together, I never knew what Steve was going to say next. True to form, he came to my bedside, not long after I lay down, and said, “I’m putting my foot down.” “What?” “The baby is going to be named Robert Clarence Irwin if it’s a boy,” he said. Robert after his dad, Bob, and Clarence after my dad. “You don’t need to put your foot down,” I whispered to him. “I think it’s a beautiful name.” When my contractions were four minutes apart, I knew it was time to head to the hospital. It was five o’clock in the morning. Steve got everything organized to take me. Of course, one of the things he grabbed was a camera. He was determined that we would capture everything on film. We called Trevor, our friend and cinematographer who had filmed Bindi’s birth, to meet us at the hospital, and Thelma, Bindi’s nanny, came over to get her off to school. As we drove in the car, Steve filmed me from the driver’s seat. As he shot, the Ute slowly edged toward the side of the road. He looked up, grabbed the wheel, and corrected the steering. Then he went back to filming and the whole thing happened again. After two or three veers, I had had enough. “Stop filming,” I yelled. He quickly put the camera down. I think he realized that this was no time to argue with mama bear.

I have reasons to feel forever grateful to my fake teenage girlfriends, for aside from teaching me about junk food, they taught me how to be feminine. Snuggled in their blossoming Love's Baby Soft-scented bosoms, I learned to approximate a female--how to talk, how to walk, how to dance, how to flip your hair. How to part your lips for a kiss but not for a bite of food. How to end your declarative sentences in a question. How to twitch your hips as you left a room. Why you laugh when you feel like screaming. Over trays of Bonnie Bell Lip Smackers and mountains of cooling fries, I learned that being female is prefab, thoughtless, soulless, and abjectly capitalist as a Big Mac. It's not important that it's real. It's only important that it's tasty.

Ones with built-in baby bonnets are cutest,” he insists. “Mine was bright red from birth. My mother swears it was because I tried to rip my way out of her⁠—” Drystan must sense the way that everything below my navel just shrivelled up and cringed, because he drags Lore away. “Enough, Redcap. There are children present.” “What? At least being born with a hat is better than being born headless and snuggling a horse or however you came into the world.” “I was not born with a horse

Sleep now,” I demand. “So fucking bossy, darling. All you need is the suit, and then you’re Ryder.” I snort at that. “Nah, I’m smarter than him… don’t tell him that though, he’ll cane my ass.” Garrett grins and snuggles closer. “And you would love it, baby.” “Too fucking right, now sleep so I can have wet dreams about canes and cocks.

She shoved me out of the bed! The realization hit him as hard as the floor. His feline grace failed him. Far from hanging its head in shame, his inner lion rolled in mirth, tufted tail practically wagging. Not funny. Except it was. He had a feeling this more assertive side of Arabella was his fault. Since the moment they’d met, he’d encouraged her to not take any shit, and apparently she’d decided to start with him. Dammit. When he’d told her to not let the world stomp all over her, he should have specified his exemption. I’m her mate. Isn’t there a rule that says she can’t kick me out of bed? Except she’d yet to realize what he had. Was it only a day ago since his life changed? Not even. At this rate, he’d be picking out fucking China patterns by noon. Completely emasculated and by a woman who wanted nothing to do with him. Flipping to his knees, he sat up and rested his chin on the mattress. Arabella faced him, eyes wary, breathing shallow as she waited for his reaction. More like she waited to see if he’d explode. She’d learn. Hayder would never harm her, but he would use his infamous kitty-cat eyes against her. He stared. You know you want me. You know you need me. Come on, baby. Melt. Melt for your lion. She stared right back. Hmm, this wasn’t working as planned. He let the left side of his lip curl into a grin, tugging his cheek and popping his infamous dimple. “I know what you’re doing.” “What?” “Trying to manipulate me into letting you back into bed.” “Is it working?” For a moment her expression shifted, a quick flip of emotions as she struggled to answer. “Yes it’s working. But I wish it wasn’t.” “Why? Why fight it?” “Because I think I need time.” It turned out there was something more powerful than his dimple. Her honesty. He groaned. “I think you were sent to kill me. Fine. If you insist, I’ll respect you even if I’d rather debauch you.” Her eyes widened. “Respect doesn’t mean I’m going to lie, baby. I want you. Bad. But I’ll listen to what you want. For now.” And, yes, he said it ominously. Let her think about it. Think about him. Soon even she wouldn’t be able to deny they were meant for each other. He stood, all six foot plus naked feet of him. And, yes, that did put a certain part of his anatomy in perfect view of a certain shocked gaze. A sucked-in breath, cheeks that darkened, a certain awareness sizzling between them. She couldn’t hope to hide her pleasure or interest in what she saw. “Sweet dreams, baby.” He winked and then turned, resisting an urge to catch her staring at his ass. He knew she was. He could feel the crazy heat as she traced his path out of the room. Go back. Want to snuggle. His lion couldn’t understand why they were back in the living room with its cramped couch that wouldn’t allow him to stretch out. Why couldn’t they snuggle in the nice warm bed and, even better, cuddle with a nice warm mate? Respect, my furry friend. A lion had no use for respect though. His worldview was much simpler. Ours. Bed. Hungry. Not hungry for a steak but, rather, a sweet, creamy pie. Hayder groaned. No need to keep reminding him of what he was missing. He knew. He hated it, but her wants had to take precedence over his. Argh.

Luke was welcomed by the brothers and drawn in with friendly approval. The conversation quickly turned to missions and commands as they compared notes, trying to figure out if they had mutual friends or had served in common battle arenas at the same time. Then more women began to arrive and Luke watched curiously as the men greeted each one as if she could be a sister or girlfriend. When Paige came out of her quarters with the new baby, the tot was passed around from man to man, each of whom took her close and affectionately, praised her beauty and snuggled her like any fond uncle might. Her son, Christopher, was soon riding on various shoulders while Paige was being embraced. Brie came in from the RV behind the bar, her home until her house was finished, and damned if each one of those men didn’t have his hands all over her belly like he’d been the one to put that baby in there. After a quick feel, they’d compliment Mike on his excellent potency. “You got her cooking a good one here, brother,” Josh said. “Baby, you are more gorgeous than ever!” said Tom. Then came Vanessa and Nikki and the whole process was repeated again, with bone-rattling hugs and sloppy kisses. It was a whole new experience for Luke. Even in his own family of biological brothers, he hadn’t seen anything like it. But it interested him, the way these men behaved toward each other’s women, as though it was expected. As if they idolized each other’s wives as much as their own, treating them with a fondness that was hardly superficial; an intimacy that was at once deep and completely respectful. The trust was implicit; the affection appeared genuine. The security they felt in their relationships was obvious. Luke had never lived in this kind of world. Preacher

We can’t do this again,” she said, but she made no attempt to cover herself and neither did he. They lay there, snuggled, nude, in post-coital rapture. “I think we can do it again before morning,” he said. “No, this isn’t going to work. We’re not lovers, Sean. We’re ex-lovers. That’s why that went so well. That’s all it is.” “I doubt that’s all,” he replied. “Oh, that’s all. You and I had pretty much perfected it by the time we split up.” “Wanna bet?” he asked, covering her body with his. “We had it perfected the first time. I remember, and so do you.” Damned if he wasn’t right. She couldn’t see her way out of this mess. “We do have one little problem. I had that one condom, just for safekeeping. I don’t have another one.” She sighed in resignation that came too easily. “I might have a couple.” “That’s my girl.” “Don’t get your hopes up.” “Baby, everything is up.” *

The New England wilderness March 1, 1704 Temperature 10 degrees Somebody was tapping Mercy in the ribs. It couldn’t be Tommy, who pounced, or Sam, who jabbed. It wasn’t John, who kissed, or Benny, who snuggled. Whichever brother it was had wet the bed in the night, and wet Mercy with him, and so far it was still warm, but the moment she separated from that sleeping brother, it would be cold and awful. But the tapping would not stop, and Mercy woke to see a deerskin legging with a painted running deer. “Up,” said her Indian. The paint had partly peeled off his face, giving him a patchy smeared look. She remembered the day before backward: the marching, the carrying, the slipping, the snow. She thrust memory away, folding it closed. She would not think about the attack. Lord, please, she prayed. Let me see Sam and John and Tommy and Benny. Let Uncle Nathaniel and Aunt Mary and the cousins be here. Let it not be true abut Marah. Let Stepmama and the baby be safe and sound and walking fast enough. The Indian stooped to take her hand and pull her to her feet, giving a slight grunt as he did. For the first time she saw that he too had been hurt and that the paint on his side was his own dried blood, and Mercy knew then that she had experienced war, and that it was true about Marah. She did not take his hand, knowing what it had done. Rolling Daniel ahead of her, she was out of the snow hole and on her feet in a moment. There was some sort of assembly going on. The prisoners were stumbling toward Mr. Williams, who stood alone, his hands raised to the sky. How extraordinary, thought Mercy. They’re going to let us pray. She was glad, because a day without morning prayer was unthinkable, but it didn’t seem like something the Indians would permit. French Indians were Catholic, though, converted by priests from France itself. Mr. Williams often said that if you were Catholic, you hated God and were evil and stole little children from their beds. The warriors had gathered in clumps. Yesterday had been complete victory for the Indians, and yet there was no rejoicing among them. Her captor’s eyes were on a bundle in the snow. She had seen enough death in her life to know it. One of the Indian wounded had not survived the night. The posture of her Indian was human. It was grief.

Our families were herded out of the room, and I snuggled little Ainsley closer, smelling her head, a smell I already recognized. I’d cheerfully kill for her, happily lay down my life for her without a second’s hesitation and with a smile on my face. My beautiful baby. My gift.

Well, then here we are,” Beth said. “We’ve got a couple of kids with a couple of kids on the way, and they clearly love each other. What are we going to do?” Susan took a sip of her martini. “I don’t know about you, but I’m not going to rest until I see them married.” Beth threw back her head and laughed loudly, earning a glance from Jack. “I love an ambitious woman. So, I have a favor to ask.” “Sure.” “I know you’ll be zipping down here the second the babies come and I know the mother’s mother gets special privileges. Let me come soon, please. I promise not to crowd the cabin and I’ll do all the shit work without getting in the way.” Susan looked up at the ceiling, thinking. Then she glanced back at Beth. “Give us three days. And I’ll split the snuggling and shit work with you.” Beth put a hand on her arm. “You are a good woman. I made my son-in-law’s mother wait a week.” They both laughed loudly. “Do you think we stand a chance of getting them married before the babies come?” Beth asked. “I don’t know. They seem to have made up their minds about certain things, not that they’re sharing. And Abby’s very stubborn when she’s made up her mind.” “She seems to be perfect for him. Everyone’s entitled to a mistake here and there. Not to mention they have babies coming. Any second…” “Maybe if we put our heads together….” The door to the bar opened and in came Ed Michaels, Chuck McCall, Abby and Cameron. They stood just inside the door and stared at Susan and Beth who had a couple of empty martini glasses apiece sitting at the bar. “Just what are you two up to?” Cameron asked. The women grinned largely and Beth said, “Just getting to know each other, Cameron.” Abby tugged on Cameron’s sleeve to bring his ear down to her lips. “I never once thought it might be worse if they liked each other,” she whispered. “They’re going to be a pot of trouble.” He grinned and slipped a kiss on her lips. “Nothing we can’t handle, baby. Stick with me.” *

But he also smells like a cross between a redwood forest and homemade frosting, moves like a sexy beast who is completely comfortable in his powerful body, and emits a furnace-like heat that makes me want to snuggle into the crook of his arm and purr until he pets me the way he petted me the last time we were this close.

Morning, Major,” I replied, snuggling further into Grant’s arms to reassure him. “I see you’ve met . . . Grant,” I finished weakly. I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to refer to Grant. “Baby daddy” didn’t seem appropriate. Glines, Abbi (2014-09-02). One More Chance: A Rosemary Beach Novel (The Rosemary Beach Series Book 8) (p. 50). Atria Books. Kindle Edition.

Jack,” she said, snuggled up against him. “I hate that I hurt you.” He buried his face in her hair and inhaled the sweet scent. “Let’s not talk about that anymore. It’s behind us. We have a lot in front of us.” “Would it be a good idea for me to go to Joey for a little while? Give you some space? Try to get my head together?” He rose over her and looked into her eyes. “Don’t, Mel. Don’t run just because we hit a rough patch. We’ll work through this.” “You sure?” “Mel,” he said hoarsely, his voice a mere whisper, “you have my baby inside you. I have to be a part of that. Come on…” She fought the tears that threatened. “I know it must be hard to deal with an emotional basket case like me.” He smiled at her and said, “I’ve heard that pregnant women get like that.” “I think I’m just like that, period.” “Marry me,” he said. She touched his beautiful face. “You don’t have to.” “Melinda, six months ago we were two people without attachments. Two people who had accepted we would never have any—and that we’d never have families. Now we have it all. We have each other and a baby. A baby we both want. Let’s not screw this up.” “Are you sure?” “I’ve never been more sure about anything. I want this. If you can’t stay here, I’ll go anywhere you want to go.” “But Jack, you love it here!” “Don’t you realize I love you more? I need you in my life. You and our baby. God, Mel—I don’t care where that happens. As long as it happens.” “Jack,” she said in a whisper. “What if you change your mind? What if something happens? You have to remember, I never thought anything terrible would happen to—” He put a finger on her lips, stopping her. He didn’t want to hear his name. Not now. “Shh,” he said. “I want you to trust me. You know you’re safe with me.” *

Paul did his job—brow mopping, hand-holding, encouraging, supporting. It went on for almost an hour and he watched as Vanni got more and more tired and Mel stayed busy getting ready to catch that baby. While Paul supported Vanni he heard Mel say, “Hold it a little longer…right where you feel the pressure…. Okay, take a breath and push again…. Way to go!” Mel spread out the baby towel on the bed, brought her clamps, suction, scissors to the bed. Finally she said, “I think we’re going to hit pay dirt on this next one, Vanni. Make it a good one.” “Make it a good one, baby,” Paul heard himself say. “Ready, push. Push. Push. Push.” Mel handed Paul a blanket. “Spread this over Vanni’s tummy, Paul. When the baby is delivered, that’s where he’s going. We’re going to dry him off and then rewrap him in a clean, warm blanket. Okay?” “Okay,” he said, mesmerized. Vanni reared up again, pushing. Paul did his job, just as he’d been instructed. “All right!” Mel said. “We’re almost there! I think the next push is going to do it, Vanni. Here we go now.” “Okay honey, here we go,” Paul said. In spite of himself, he was leaning forward, watching, wanting to see this baby being born, wanting to be in on this all the way now. He heard the baby cry, heard Mel exclaim happily. He grabbed the blanket, did his job and out of the womb came this mucky, squalling infant. Oh, man, he looked unhappy. “Whoa,” Paul said with a laugh. “He’s pissed!” Vanni laughed emotionally. Paul stared in wonder at the new life, astonished by what she’d done. Astonished that he’d been there. Then he remembered—he was supposed to do things. Together, he and Mel dried the baby, and while he was helping with that, he couldn’t help counting fingers and toes. He watched Mel clamp and cut, then he wrapped the baby in a new, dry blanket and carefully lifted him. Vanni was struggling to pull herself up a little bit, trying to get the pillows behind her back. Paul held the baby in one arm, assisted her with the other. Then he knelt beside the bed and watched as Vanni snuggled the baby close, gently kissed his head. And, Paul, not completely conscious, rested his lips against Vanni’s shoulder. She turned her head and looked into his eyes. Vanni reached up a hand to his face and wiped the tears from his cheeks. Tears he had absolutely no idea were there. “We’re in business,” Mel said. “Good job. Good, good job.” Paul was exhausted. He lowered his head to Vanni’s shoulder and just lay there for a moment, trying to imagine what she’d just been through. He

I’m already feeling vulnerable around him. Especially after our talk last night. Seeing him like this, first thing in the morning with that sleepy look in his eyes, makes me want to crawl into his lap and do naughty things. Poppy giggles and claps. I’m holding his baby. Right. “Wanna see your daddy? Hmm?” I kiss her on the forehead and lean over Rider, who sits up to take his daughter. “Hey, cutie pie.” He peppers her with kisses and she laughs. “I have to tell you guys that having a kid is so fu—freaking surreal.” As he snuggles her to his chest, his face turns up to me. “How’d she sleep?” “Great. She only woke up twice. I gave her a bottle and patted her butt, and she knocked out again.” “Sorry. You could’ve woken me to do that.

I snuggled into his chest further and he squeezed me tight. “I’ll help you any way I can,” I whispered. He pressed a kiss to the top of my hair. “I know, baby. That’s why I love you.

They pulled apart when Keefe shouted, “YOU GUYS HAVE TO SEE THIS!” They ran to the main room and found Keefe standing under the skylight, holding up Mr. Snuggles like it was a baby lion about to be made king. The sparkly red dragon twinkled almost as much as Keefe’s eyes as he said, “I went in to check on our boy and found him cuddling with this!” “Isn’t that the same dragon Fitz brought to your house that one time?” Dex asked Sophie. “WHAT?” Keefe shouted. “YOU KNEW AND YOU DIDN’T TELL ME?!” “Mr. Snuggles wasn’t my secret to share,” Sophie said. “IT’S NAME IS MR. SNUGGLES?! That is . . . . I can’t even . . .” Keefe ran back to Fitz’s room shouting, “ARE YOU MISSING YOUR SNUGGLE BUDDY?!” “Fitz is going to die of embarrassment, you know that, right?” Biana asked. “I didn’t know he had a stuffed dragon,” Della said. “I wonder where he got it.

HEY—YOU’RE UP!” FITZ CALLED across the pastures as he made his way over, and Sophie mentally thanked the universe that she’d decided to brush her hair and change out of her pajamas before she’d headed outside for a little fresh air and some baby alicorn snuggles.

You probably think that the old crow was just sitting there waiting for someone to drop part of their sandwich, so he could swoop down and snatch it. But he wasn’t. That old crow was admiring daddies pushing their kids on the swings and moms cuddling babies on the park bench nearby. Then, when the sun started to lower in the sky and all the children were gathered to make their way back home, the old crow would remember all the good things he’d seen that day and would hop across his branch and snuggle down deep in his hollow for the night, all the happy images melding into his dreams.

I do not even want to see your inventory,” replied Shart, as he concentrated for a moment.  “Good shit, the first thing listed is 273 pieces of lint.” “I think you may have the filters set too low,” I replied, toying with my inventory.  The world around me slowed, leaving Badgelor in a particularly corpse-tastic moment.  I disabled a few settings; suddenly, I had everything from lint to pubic hair in my inventory.  Wait a minute.  Not all the pubic hair was mine. “How did Badgelor’s hair get there?” I asked.  That’s more than a little appalling.  “He likes to shrink and sleep in your pants while you’re bathing,” replied the demon.  “He says it makes him feel safe.  I’m assuming he feels that way because he forgets you are an incompetent idiot.” I rotated my head around to look Shart full in the face.  Considering he was on my shoulder, we were quite literally eye to eye.  I raised my eyebrows questioningly. Shart had the good grace to look away.  “When Badgelor was very small, he used to do the same thing with Charles.  Baby Badgelor liked warm snuggles and familiar smells.” “That Charles guy really messed with his head,” I stated, remembering a few cats I’d had that were the same way.  It was hard to imagine Badgelor actually doing that, however.  He seemed a bit more… violently insane. When Badgelor finally had his fill, he crawled out of the pile of less than fresh corpses with a grin.  “Ready?” “Yup,” I stated.  “Back to the creek, clean yourself up, and take a nap.” He nodded contentedly and trotted off. “If you knew he was going to do that, why did you bring him here?” asked Shart. “It made him happy,” I stated.  “In case you hadn’t noticed, he’s kind of violently insane.

I shouldn’t be thinking about getting my ass pounded while snuggling my eggs. It’s weird. On the other hand, snuggling eggs is pretty weird all on its own, so maybe having carnal thoughts about my baby daddy—my eggy daddy—isn’t that horrible.

The silence that surrounds mom rage is filled with fear. This fear gets instilled in us through cultural messaging that tells us motherhood is just the best. And if anyone dare disagree? Shame! We worry if our shameful words hit the air, our monstrousness might be true. So many of us struggling with mom rage don't tell our partners. We are afraid our friends will think badly of us, or they won't relate. We are terrified that if we share how furious we've become since having babies, it will get twisted into "I hate being a mom," which will further twist into "I don't love my children." At the end of the a rage-filled day, we lie in bed curled in a fetal position, sobbing. We think of the softness of our babies' skin, the way our children have a dep knowing that our bodies are nests, and they snuggle in till everything's just right, like a cat turning circles before she settles down. Not loving our children? This couldn't be further from the truth. But the fear that someone might misunderstand takes our breath away. So we retreat - into our beds, our cars, our drinks, our screens, ourselves. We shut the windows. We lock the doors. We don't tell a soul.

Why are you here?!” Aya snapped, and the giant hound growled ominously in reply. “Don't be so mean to him. He's just a baby!” Finally! Someone she liked and who seemed to like her back. She dropped to her knees, squishing Tenko's face between her palms and snuggling him without fear. “Just a ba… Are you insane?” Rushton gasped.

It took me five minutes of awkward silence to come up with an answer, but upon careful consideration, I told her that my perfect job would entail spending the day in a cushiony room, napping with baby animals. Maybe they had been abandoned by their mothers of left by the side of the road; whatever their situation, it would be my job to keep them company and pet them and generally give them a warm motherly vibe. When they wanted to play and roll around on the floor, I would do that with them, and then when they got tired, they could fall asleep in the crook of my arm or snuggled in my blouse. And sometimes I would give them a warm bottle, just like in all the nature specials. But they would definitely have to be baby animals. I wasn't about to get scratched or nipped or anything - I'm no St. Francis.

I might have fallen head over heels in love with my new baby, but he was not an easy newborn. He was gorgeous but demanding, constantly unsettled, fussing and uninterested in feeding unless it was between the hours of midnight and five a.m. It goes without saying that there were moments of pure happiness, when I’d wrap him up after his bath and snuggle him into me, or simply marvel at the velvet skin on his hands. But there were also times the lack of sleep and crushing exhaustion felt like it was never going to end and I blamed myself for the fact that William was not the gurgling, contented bundle of joy I’d assumed he would be. I was certain I must’ve been doing something wrong, despite having read every parenting manual going.

Greyfell had his legs tucked underneath him and one wing draped protectively over Silveny, who lay on her side with her head resting against Greyfell’s chest. “I know,” Fitz said quietly. “I never knew horses could snuggle.” He moved a little closer and Sophie had a feeling he was going to put his arm around her again—and she was all for that. But then his gaze drifted to Grady and his arm stayed noticeably by his side. Grady had been watching them very closely since they’d gotten back from the new alicorn-baby hive—though “glaring” might’ve been a better word for it. And Edaline had been giving Sophie a lot of raised eyebrows and sappy smiles. Parents.

If you want to talk, cry, laugh, eat junk food till you’re sick, or do all of the above, you just say the word. Or if you’d rather we leave you alone so you can snuggle with your fur-babies,

Take, for instance the Efe, a group of hunter-gatherers who have lived in the rainforest of central Africa for thousands of years. Right after a mom gives birth, other women come over to her house and form a baby SWAT team, ready to respond to every whimper and cry the baby has. They hold, snuggle, rock, and even feed the newborn. As the anthropologist Mel Konner writes: “Dealing with a fussing baby is a group effort.” After a few days, the mom can return to work and leave the baby with an allomother. In the first few weeks of a new baby’s life, an infant will move from one caregiver to the next, on average, every fifteen minutes. By the time the baby is three weeks old, allomoms account for 40 percent of the newborn’s physical care. By sixteen weeks, allomoms account for a whopping 60 percent. Skip ahead two years, and the child spends more time with others than with their own mother. All these snuggles, cuddles, and moments of comfort from allomoms have lasting benefits for babies and children. These women know the little dumpling just as well as the mother. And the dumpling feels just as safe and comfortable with these alloparents as they do with mom. As a result, babies attach and bond to many adults, perhaps as many as five or six.

The sky is filled with stars," I whispered. Braeden tucked the blankets around us and pulled me into his chest. "They're our stars, Blondie." I leaned back into him and sighed. "I like that." "Everything seems easier for us when we're under the stars. Ever notice that?" "Yeah, I have." "You know why?" His voice was a mere rumble against my ear. I felt his breath with every syllable he spoke, like my personal lullaby. "Why?" I snuggled in closer to him, and his arm tightened around my waist. "Because the stars don't have rules. Anything goes out here beneath them. There is no right or wrong. They twinkle and shine no matter what. The stars see everything, baby. They see us for exactly who we are.

That’s what’s so unsettling. From the moment you slipped her into my arms at the hospital, I could tell she was wonderful, perfect, an absolute angel. It was like I had a baby-sized hole in my heart she snuggled into perfectly. Don’t you see? She’s all I ever wanted: a baby of my own. She should have been the baby we were meant to have. You and me.

Go already,” Jess mumbled, but she snuggled deeper, sending pins and needles snaking up his arm. He searched out her face in the darkness. “Are you sure, baby?” “As long as you promise to hurry home, Pookie Bear, I'll miss you.” Jess batted her eyes at him adoringly. “I'll check 10-8 in a few,” Kayne sighed, knowing he was going to have to figure out how to extricate himself from the sardine can of the bed. He did not want to leave them. “Okay, Pookie Bear.” Shay chuckled before she hung up. Kayne pinched Jess’s ass, satisfied when she yelped in surprise. “You're in so much trouble for that,” he growled. “I guess you're really not much of a Pookie Bear, you're more of a Pookums? Or maybe a Snooky Poo?” Jess giggled when he cringed. “Sugar Kayne, Candy Kayne?” “You're enjoying the fact that I'm a captive audience, aren't you?” Jess nodded—the little witch.

To calm the Touchy baby, you have to re-create the womb. Swaddle him tightly, snuggle him into your shoulder, whisper a rhythmic sh … sh … sh sound (like the splashing of fluid in the womb) close to his ear, and pat his back gently, mimicking a heartbeat. (This, by the way, will calm most babies, but it works especially well with a Touchy baby.) When you have a Touchy baby, the quicker you learn his cues and his cries, the simpler life is. These babies love structure and predictability—no hidden surprises, thank you.

Thus when Hiroko came up and said, “Nadia, this crescent wrench is absolutely frozen in this position,” Nadia sang to her, “That’s the only thing I’m thinking of— baby!” and took the crescent wrench and slammed it against a table like a hammer, and twiddled the dial to show Hiroko it was unstuck, and laughed at her expression. “The engineer’s solution,” she explained, and went humming into the lock, thinking how funny Hiroko was, a woman who held their whole ecosystem in her head, but couldn’t hammer a nail straight. And that night she talked over the day’s work with Sax, and spoke to Spencer about glass, and in the middle of that conversation crashed on her bunk and snuggled her head into her pillow, feeling totally luxurious, the glorious final chorus of “Ain’t Misbehavin’” chasing her off to sleep.