My wife hired a professional cuddler to help with our STUPIDLY OBNOXIOUS child and now I'm the one in need of a cuddler.

I cannot believe this actually worked. My wife hired a professional cuddler to help with our 3 year old son.I look back and see the warning signs now. Always asking if you can be my little buddy, hanging on my every word, never taking his eyes off of me, always suggesting bedroom read alouds. But who would have thought that one day he'd turn on me.<br><br>---<br><br>I’m a stay at home dad. I have a regular routine which includes a bit of reading and a bit of yoga in the morning. I used to have a glass of wine with dinner but after today, I’ve decided to cut back a bit.<br><br>I saved an old Tigger onesie that my best friend wore at his birthday some 30 years ago. It works wonders for my back when doing downward-facing dog. It’s also a great conversation starter when out and about with the kids. I happened to be wearing it at the time of the incident.<br><br>After my last yoga session, I opened up a fresh bottle of Pinot Grigio and cracked it open as a little celebratory reward. I deserved it. The bottle lasted me only 15 minutes as I was so caught up in watching the toddler do tuck jumps. Tuck jumps are where you spread your arms and legs in the air and fold in towards your torso. It’s fun. It’s safe. It’s a family exercise that I recommend.<br><br>When he grew tired of jumping, he walked up to me with a bit of a wobble. I thought to myself, “I must have poured myself too much wine for it feel this strong so quickly. He’s not used to seeing me drink this much.” Then he said it.<br><br>“Daddy, time for a nap.”<br><br>I don’t remember anything from that point on. The next thing I knew, I was in our bedroom. I was in bed. *I was being tucked in.* The Tigger costume was gone as well as my wine glass. I was alone, cowering under the blankets, begging God to just let me go.<br><br>Then I heard my wife and the professional cuddler giggling in the kitchen. They sounded like they were having fun. I couldn’t hear the words but their tone was unmistakable. My son walked into the room and climbed into bed with me. He placed his hand on my forehead and whispered, “Shhhh. The Daddy needs to be consoled.” And with that, he got under the blankets with me and cuddled up tight.<br><br>Even as a 6’4” former college football player, I’ve learned to recognize when I’m in a situation I cannot describe. So I did the only thing I could do. I fully melted into his arms. I felt his warm breath on my chest as he hugged me and everything went black.<br><br>Now I sit here, alone on the back porch, sipping my wine. I’m trying to drown my sorrows but I know this bottle won’t last me long. The Tigger onesie sits next to me, a painful reminder of what I once had and lost so quickly. I’m not even 100% sure if I’m the one writing this. My son knows where I keep the good stuff. Maybe I’m just a placeholder while he gets his next cuddle fix. It’s midnight and I’m already on my second bottle. I can hear giggling from the kitchen and a small voice telling me, “Shhhh. The Daddy needs to be consoled.”<br><br>At least he’s being quiet about it.