An Ode to My Baby Daddy
It's Father's Day. The kids are all a-twinkle with excitement. There is definitely magic in the air. Now you may be wondering what the big deal is. After all, I did all of the heavy lifting. Pregnant for 27 months, nursed for 17 months, and 8.5 years of love, nurturing and not committing a horrific act of homicidal, maternal rage (harder than it sounds).
All he had to do was do the hippity dippity with me and - BAM! Baby on the way. And for this "service" I'm supposed to get him a gift or a card every year?! Well, yeah. He totally deserves it. There is a saying that "If Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy." He knows - in an instant - what I need and gets it for me. 9 times out of 10 it's a Cosmo.
But WAIT! There's more! He changes poopie diapers! He knows how to answer this question truthfully without making me want to cleave him: "Do these pants make my fat ass look fat?"And cleaving him has nothing to do with my ample cleavage, for the record.
He makes me feel safe and warm and loves and protects our kids. He also doesn't get pissed off when I serve the same dinner 4 nights in a row or if something mysterious is growing in our fridge. He makes me laugh until my stomach hurts and takes out the trash almost every week before the garbage man gets here. He gets up every morning and makes the coffee.
And in return for all of this effort all he asks of me is that one day a year he gets to sleep in late and eat a chocolate croissant for breakfast. Then he'll play tennis and hang out by the swimming pool sipping bloody mary's. And tonight I'll serve him a t-bone steak as big as his head and he'll be the happiest man on the planet.
Here's to you, Big Man! Thanks for the kids and the cosmos! Me love you LONG time.