So I wasn’t really expecting it, when Matt happened. I teased him then, that he had a biological clock that was ticking harder than a 35-year old woman, and there was at least a little bit of truth in that. I think maybe losing his mom when he did probably had something to do with that, understanding better than, certainly earlier than, most that we only have so much time and we have to cram as much living as we can into what we get.
For someone who had never changed a diaper before he met me (I think), who had spent very little time with little kids, he was a natural. Dating me was never just about me and I don’t think I can truly appreciate how brave you have to be as a single, childless person to pursue someone who’s already got that kind of life commitment to someone else.
He bought a carseat, before we were even engaged (again, I think. I’m reasonably certain), and I remember being totally being blown away by that. In a way, it was as much if not more a visible sign of just how much he was in this whole adventure as a ring was.
I am horrible with dates and anniversaries and I can’t even begin to tell you when he proposed except I think it was in February (maybe January. Don’t kill me, Matt.). I asked him to come over and hang out with A so I could deep clean the flat that Bean and I were living in at the time and I came back inside and A said he had something for me and inside the box he gave me was another box and when I turned, there was Matt on one knee. ”I haven’t showered!” was about all I could come up with when I caught on to what was going on.
That he involved A, that he acknowledged in the act of asking that it was not two but three, speaks volumes to the type of father he was going to be. Matt is the only father has ever known. He is the best father A could have hoped for. That I could have prayed for.
We were married in August and pregnant that month, and when Kid B came along it was a new revelation, to see how good Matt was with him. He has honestly changed more dirty diapers than I have, walked the floors late at night and, much to my chagrin, used the Smashing Pumpkins as a lullaby. Can’t win ‘em all, I guess.
And then, three years later, Kid C, just Matt and I in the delivery room, in what would be my hardest and last birthing. He wiped my brow and had more faith that I could do it than I could, I think. That’s the kind of person you want as a partner, as the father of your children.
He is a good and decent man, my husband, with a big heart and, when you can coax it out of him, an amazing smile. He is smart, and funny, and kind of a dork. His patience is light years beyond mine, which makes him an even better father. He plays Legos for hours, is a jungle gym and a punching bag. He teaches them to skate and ride the bike and appreciate metal. He does the dishes and the laundry and shows his boys that being one half of a whole means that you carry half the load, at home and outside it. Sometimes, you carry more.
He hugs our boys and kisses them and tells them every day that he loves them because he knows how important it is for them to hear, to feel right down in their cores.
He is a good and decent man, my husband, and thanks to his example, and a lot of hard work on both our parts, I have every expectation and all the faith in the world that these three boys that we are raising will be the same. I could hope for nothing better.
Happy Father’s Day, Matthew, father of my sons. We are so, so lucky to have you.
No comments:
Post a Comment