It's a good thing I have the Boy Terror. I am a person who likes hugs, snuggles, and affection. I know Girl Terror loves me, but even as an infant she was not cuddly. Everyone commented on how "stiff" she seemed. Her arms and legs never relaxed, and she hated being held against anyone. She would sit on my lap, but not lean back into my arms. She is, even when she says she's snuggling, the pokiest, pointiest child alive. Even her butt in bony.
Boy Terror is the complete opposite. He slept in the bed with me in the hospital, curled tightly against my side. He loved being held, and for the first year fell asleep in my arms every night. At 18 months, he no longer has the time or patience for cuddling, but first thing in the morning he will sit on the couch with me, his little boy body molded against me, his hands tucked into mine. When I hold him on my lap to read, he leans back, wiggling into spot, as if he is settling in for a long visit. His entire being is soft and squishy. His cheeks are round and full, his hands are warm and soft. He tolerates my kisses so far, even if he refuses to give kisses back.
I know the time will come, sooner than I like, when he will grow out of this teddy bear body. He will be tall and muscular, and will have to bend over to hug me. He will die a death of embarrassment every time I love him in public. But I will. You know I will want to keep on hugging, kissing, and snuggling him, because he will always be my baby boy.