It’s 3 a.m. The baby’s screaming. Mom’s drained. The bottles aren’t washed.
Without a word, he’s up—swaying in the
dark, singing off-key lullabies with a toddler on his chest and spit-up on his shirt.
In the morning, he’s dressed, packed the daycare bag, kissed
two foreheads, and
left a note on the counter that says, “You’re doing amazing. I’ve
got dinner tonight.”
That’s a Smoochie Daddë. He doesn’t need applause—his presence is the proof.