Three years ago I wrote the following:
“We have a Daddy at our house. He has been a Daddy now for 8 years. My running joke is that he is a terrible Mommy, but a wonderful Daddy. And he is.
He wrestles in the floor with the children. He is the Tickle Monster. He lifts heavy things. He is an Eagle Scout, so camping with him (in a tent, on the ground) is actually pleasant. He knows how to use power tools. He builds things, and they do not fall down. He has brought cool/icky (depends on your point of view) pets into our home like snakes, chickens, turtles, frogs, a rabbit, and a tarantula. He does not mind getting wet or muddy or sweaty. He asks the children logic based questions to stretch their brains. . .he also makes silly noises and teases them to stretch their senses of humor. He does all of this, and he loves me. The children know that he loves me. The children know that he loves them.
I married the man I fell in love with. He was not a Daddy. He was a 20-something blond haired, thin, fraternity guy from a huge town I had never been to. He has become many things over the past 15 years I have known him. . .today we celebrated the fact that he is a Daddy. And we love him right back.”
The only thing that has changed in the ensuing three years is that he’s now been a Daddy for 11 years, and I’ve known him for 18. Over the past 18 months alone, he has shown again and again and again what a wonderful, Godly, husband and father my own Heavenly Father picked out for the kids and me.
Honey, you’ve only become better at this Daddy gig. You’ve got it nailed. We all adore you. You know.