The Best Father I Have Ever Known

His own father died when he was just a teenager. He describes his father as quiet and tender and playful. He remembers that his dad had a nickname for everyone. He once told me about the winters when he and his brother were small and they lived in the country without many of the amenities that we enjoy today. At bedtime, their dad would tell them to go warm up the bed. He and his brother would jump under the covers and flap their legs back and forth, snow-angel-style, to shoo the cold from the bed. Then, they would all three sleep there warmly together. I think that is one of the reasons I never faced a syllable of opposition to cosleeping with Al.

The Mr. nurtures Al in ways that even I do not. He never raises his voice. Never. He will take the time to transform bath time and tooth-brushing time and even diaper-changing time into the most entertaining games ever, just to add more fun to Al's day. He is quiet and tender and playful and kind and loving, even in the midst of temper tantrums and toxic poop. He has about 17 adorable and hilarious nicknames for Al. When he works from sunrise to nightfall, he almost cries when he kisses his sleeping son goodbye or goodnight, he misses him so.

He loves him so.

And for that, I love him even more.