317. Dad Crush Review

And there he is.

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.

I have a crush. A big one.

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.”

So, why am I writing this?

I was wrong.

Last week, I watched him spend eleven minutes convincing his daughter that applesauce is a valid food group. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t threaten to leave. He simply sat on the floor, cross-legged, and asked, “Do you want the purple pouch or the green one?” When she threw the green one on the floor, he picked it up, wiped it on his shirt, and tried again. Eleven minutes. I felt my cold, cynical heart do a backflip.

I have a confession to make. It’s a little embarrassing, a little wholesome, and entirely unexpected. 317. Dad Crush

Let me set the scene. Every Tuesday and Thursday, I take my toddler to the same indoor playground. It smells faintly of stale coffee and sweaty socks. There’s a sad-looking rubber plant in the corner and a broken ball pit net that’s been “getting fixed” since March.

Here is why I am utterly, irrevocably smitten:

Because I used to think romance was candlelit dinners and “Netflix and chill.” I used to think a crush required mystery and six-pack abs. And there he is

Most of us parents are running on fumes and caffeine. We are counting the minutes until nap time. But this guy? When his kid runs toward him with a fistful of wood chips, yelling “Dada!” he looks at her like she just won the Nobel Prize. He doesn’t check his phone. He doesn’t sigh. He just scoops her up and spins her around until they both get dizzy.