Monday, June 20, 2016


Having the talk with you was different. We'd been friends first, so you knew my baggage. But I still felt the need for a reminder, just in case you wanted to change your mind or at least slow down.  I followed my standard format for my "tell your serious boyfriend that you can't have kids" discussion. I pulled out my Patriarchal Blessing.  "This says...." I tried to be reassuring, but honest.  I don't think you let me finish.  "We'll adopt," you said, "I don't care. I've never cared about having my own children.  My blood." So we did it.  You married me anyway.  You had surgery anyway.  We held hands through it all, anyway.  It was a road that was longer and steeper than we ever could have imagined when we said those words, "We'll just adopt," but the last part was true... "It will be ok."  We are ok.  We did it.  You did it.  You didn't have to, but you did.  That's why I always had the talk when things got serious between me and a beau.  I did it three times.  You were the one who took. My kind young man with an understanding heart.  The other two were nowhere near your match.

And now she's here! She's like your little trophy that you love to carry with you. Doe-eyed and shiny and all smiles for her Daddy.  She loves you so much she giggles at the mere sight of you because she knows something fun will happen when I place her in your arms.  (It will most likely involve going upside down.)  If you can't FaceTime us in the morning, she spends the rest of it grabbing my phone and saying, "Dadadadada!" like, "try again, Mom!"  You get the best giggles, you got the best burps, and you change the fastest diaper in the west.  You can feed her in complete darkness without waking her up, and you know what outfits go together.  

I know you'll help me to actually let her do hard things and to let her be cool.  You'll give her good advice about boys then curse yourself for it and I will sit back and smile and coo over how cute you guy are, wrapped around each other's fingers.  You'll teach her to drive and I'll be mad because one day she'll drive away...but she'll always come back for something fun to happen in your arms.

Happy Father's Day, Daddy.  You're the best.

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