The Husband is a sexy guy. At 6’4” tall, he towers over my 5’8” frame, making me feel like a petite doll. He works out constantly and his physique looks eerily similar to photos from his college days.
Last year, we installed a home gym in our basement, complete with a high-tech stationary bike, multiple free weights, and an adjustable bench. The Husband spends an inordinate amount of time down there, rocking out to Nirvana and Cold Play while doing his 1000th push-up of the day.
So it should come as somewhat of a surprise when Short gave him a big hug the other day and said sweetly as he poked at his belly, “Pop, this is your soft spot!”
The Husband was mortified. Soft spot?!? I could see his brain doing back flips trying to make sense of what the five-year-old had just said. Maybe he meant “strong spot”? The Husband was made of bones and muscle and yogurt fruit smoothies and memorized NFL stats. He was not made of soft.
“What did you say?” he asked Short for clarification. “Did you say ‘soft spot’?”
“Yep,” confirmed Short, “right here.” He took a miniature finger and pointed at The Husband’s stomach.
“But …” The Husband began to rally, eager to defend his abs.
“Oh, wait, that's not the only one! You have another soft spot here.” Short grinned wide as he squeezed The Husband’s biceps.
I stifled a laugh.
“What?” demanded The Husband. “You aren’t saying you agree with him, are you?” Suddenly a look of mild panic washed over his face.
“No, not at all. I was just thinking about something Tall said to me when he was about three.”
“What did he say?”
I was reluctant to share this little tidbit, but I had no choice now. “I love hugging you, Mommy, because your tummy is just like a pillow.”
Looks like we all have our soft spots.