dear sweet anar,
a few nights ago; your papa read you a book. once the story had ended, your papa shut the book, turned to mama and asked curiously, "are these authors on drugs?", to which your mama burst out into giggles. a few hours later, your papa fell into slumber with his arm cradling you like a protective, iron grip and your mama later remarked to me, "oh great, now i don't get anymore cuddles."