This isn’t why I grew my beard in the first place (did that long before I even met Melanie) but it’s one of the reasons I keep it: Mainly because Isabella likes it, just like this blogger’s son.
When the beard got scratchy, TwoBert couldn’t get comfortable. He’d brush up against my hairy cheek and return to scratch his nose on my collarbone. I can’t have this, I thought. If it’s a choice between the beard or the baby, then the short and curlies must die.
But then, one night about a week ago, TwoBert reached up without looking and starting stroking my face. He does this every night now, for about 15 seconds. Just a little dose of unconditional, pre-literate love.
My sister noticed a couple of weeks ago at Mass that Isabella has a habit, when I’m holding her, of sort-of absentmindedly stroking my beard with her hand even while she’s looking elsewhere. As long as she and Melanie like it, it stays.
