Warning: very sappy post to follow. I’m just in that kind of a mood, folks.
My wife is amazing. Beyond amazing. She’s seriously the best woman I know, and I’m infinitely lucky that she chose me. Sure, we bicker from time to time, just like any other married couple. But ultimately we are quick to resolve our issues and usually end arguments with laughter and affection. This pregnancy has taught me a lot of life lessons. It has also revealed a laundry list of reasons why I’m grateful to be with MKL.
I’ve always known – since our first date, really – that I wanted to have a baby with this woman. She is tender, sweet, and funny. And she knows everything I don’t. We’re a perfectly matched pair that way, and have a wealth of “stuff” to teach our child. She will teach our kid to garden while I teach it to bake. She will teach guitar and expose the kid to the blues while I teach piano and expose the kid to opera. She will teach football, I will teach basketball. For those in this world who think a child needs a male and female parent, think again. All a child needs is love, and ours will be fortunate enough to get it from two very well-rounded moms.
With Father’s Day approaching, I am usually forced to take a moment and face the estrangement from my own father. This year, though, my thoughts have drifted toward how our family will celebrate Father’s Day once the monkey is old enough to know that there is no male parent in our house. Will our child wish for a father on these days like I often have? Will he/she celebrate MKL’s father and all of the guncles that surround him/her with love? Or will we separate Mother’s Day and Father’s Day into one day for MKL and another day for me?
This concept has floated around in my mind even more over the last few days as I see MKL take on the traditional “daddy duties” in preparing our house for baby. She has been hard at work on the nursery for weeks – putting the crib together (I merely read the instructions and handed her the hardware when prompted); painting the baseboards (I can barely get back up off the floor once I’m down); re-finishing the reclaimed furniture (with a little help from me and our bff); and installing the new closet shelving entirely on her own. Don’t get me wrong – I helped a little with the painting of the room and the closet, and I put together an ottoman. But the lion’s share of the work has been done by MKL. She maintains a list of things to do around the house to get us ready (check smoke alarms, buy fire extinguisher, expose dog to baby sounds/smells, etc.). This brings me to a previously unforeseen benefit of raising this baby with her. She understands the biology behind everything I’m going through during this pregnancy roller coaster, but she is handy and down-to-nursery-prep-business like most new daddies I know. It’s by far the best of both worlds and I actually feel sorry for pregnant ladies who don’t have this advantage. I have reveled in watching her get our room ready, just like she lights up watching my belly grow. Not only is it completely adorable to see her this excited about it, but it’s also so comforting and comes from such a loving place that sometimes it overwhelms me a bit. Just when I thought I couldn’t love her more, she arranged the gifts from our first shower in an adorable display in the crib, just until we figure out what to do with them all!
Last night our bff dropped off a few early baby gifts (that lady is the coolest, and will undoubtedly be the best godmother ever!). One of them was a CD of jazz versions of nursery rhymes and other baby songs. While dinner heated up, we found ourselves singing along and dancing around in the new nursery. And I teared up at how cool this kid is going to be. Thanks to the love of my life, we’re physically ready to welcome the baby home. It’s also thanks to her that I’m emotionally on the edge of my seat, ready to be one of its moms.
MKL, I love you. To the moon and back.