Before I had even made my arrival, my dad read the books. He moved meetings to make the doctor’s appointments. He read the emails my mom forwarded him about what size fruit I was each week. He asked questions, he worried, he loved me right away. He cried with my mom when they learned I was their future son.
He put in long, late nights at our new house, getting it ready for me and my mom. He logged hours of sweat (and maybe blood and tears?!) trying to make everything perfect for us when we moved in shortly after I was born.
When I arrived, he caught all the right moments on camera. He gave me his finger to wrap mine around and we hung out on the hospital room couch, skin-to-skin, in the middle of the night as it poured snow outside the window. He kept it together for all of us and was the rock my overly-hormonal mom needed as they both adjusted to sleepless, so-in-love, life with me.
He ran point on the move to our new home when I was just a few weeks old. He directed movers while wearing me in a sling, and hung curtains, installed electronics, and did a million other to-dos every moment that I napped, as we settled into our new surroundings. He built my crib when he was so tired he could barely function…but when my mom offered to ask a friend to come help, he was adamant that my crib was one move-in task he would not miss out on.
He cheers me on as I learn to smile, roll over, and now sit up. He’s my biggest fan and the feeling is so mutual. He has the best beard for rubbing my feet in, and only he can get me to giggle for minutes on end with his silly antics. He does it all from rock to rough-house, and I know Mom has caught him more than once just staring at me in wonder.
I know all kids think their dads are the best, and I’ve only had five months to know mine…but I can say without a doubt, a baby doesn’t get dealt a better set of cards than I did.
Love you, Dad!
Crew (5 mos)