Norah doesn't snuggle really. She wiggles. She wiggled in the womb. She fidgets outside of it.
Sometimes I catch her in a moment, a moment of snuggle.
I went into her room to get her laundry basket. I knew I was risking waking her, and I also knew that I was risking her not even being asleep yet.
But she was.
Sleeping in the gentleness of childhood slumber, she was snuggling the stuffed dog that once belonged to me. I remembered snuggling that dog. I remembered what it was like to love a stuffed animal like that, and feel secure in holding it.
That's how I found her. It doesn't happen often, but I got to catch a glimpse of it.
It was a sweet moment to me.