I’m writing this post on behalf of my husband. Well, he didn’t exactly ASK me to (nor does he know I’m writing it), but I think his journey will be just as interesting to his daughters one day as my pregnancy/birth details, right?
First of all (and I think most people know this), he’s a saint. Think I’m exaggerating? Think again.
- He put up with me through 77.5 weeks of pregnancy. Think about that. And not only did he not leave me, he fed me, listened to my fears and whining, and indulged my incessant preparations and spreadsheets.
- He was in the delivery room, right by my side, twice. Enough said.
- He somehow finds the patience and energy every single day to make our children feel special and loved, no matter how tired his old body is – he has even taken his daughter camping solo, twice, and to Disneyland – wait, not just Disneyland but Ariel’s Grotto (the most expensive and princess-filled breakfast spot on the planet), also twice.
- On top of all that, he finds time for his wife (even when she’s not pregnant) for dinners out, movie nights and short trips to Vegas, Cabo and Hawaii (apparently she likes to work).
I could go on and on and on (of course, I’m sure I’m dealing with some postpartum hormonal issues, but it’s all true).
Anyway, how does this relate to our “Transition to Two” and Bart’s fatherhood journey? Imagine that 50-year-old just pulled a muscle in his lower back – oh, and he just got a newborn. OH, and he has a 4-year-old who needs a great deal of Daddy’s attention right now. But back to the newborn.
Imagine that same 50-year-old changing a blowout poopy diaper in the middle of the night in the mostly dark, on his knees by our makeshift changing table in the living room, needing his old man glasses more than ever. You can almost hear the soft “UH” as he slowly rises, crying newborn in his arms to deliver her to Mom for a night feeding. Then picture him afterwards, walking the floors with that swaddled baby, shusssssshhhhhing and bouncing, determined to help her find sleep (which he always does).
THEN picture him snoring back in bed, but not for long because this kid feeds every 2-3 hours (and the other one is prone to nighttime visits to Mommy & Daddy’s bed on a “magic carpet”). And only now you can visualize the joy – and glamour of 50-year-old fatherhood. Makes you appreciate why people used to have children so early in life, before they were stuck in their ways and their bodies started to creak.
But even though it’s hard for him, you will not hear him complain – and he will always step up and help, even when it hurts. And those are just a few of the many things that make him a saint (and make me the luckiest gal in the world).
Bottom line: I wish for my daughters to find an amazing man like their father one day.
And in the meantime, I will never question why we have TWO Daddy’s Girls (another “guess who’s who”):