So Father’s Day was Sunday, and it was pretty much the perfect day* with the almost perfect dad of our house.
Let’s be real.
P is not the perfect husband (and I’m not the perfect wife, blah, blah, blah…).
-but he’s pretty damned awesome at the dadding part of this all.
Neither of us knew (at all) what we were getting into when we decided to have a baby. And then there were two of them, and there were complications, and the boys weren’t quite as healthy upon arrival as we’d hoped, and I’m too type-A…
and I needed P like I’d never needed him.
And he was there.
And he was, and forever will be, the only one who knows just how bad it was, and the only one who helped me through it all.
I especially like the last photo here, where P is just on the edge, but he’s got the biggest smile. These are my boys. -just being boys, and enjoying their time together.
*Um. Full disclosure? The morning was awesome, and the after-the single biggest fight of our relationship-noon was awesome. You guys, I threw all the things. I broke our last working house phone…I threw a Tupperware container full of sliced nectarines, which exploded upon contact, and then I sobbed on the floor while cleaning them up and kicking at P to stay the fuck away from me…In my defense: we had two trust-relapses/borderline shady occurrences in the last week, and my still-not-right-hormones are super reactive to the level of stress and anxiety all of that brings on, so I randomly got my period (TMI, forgive me)…Kill my face-it was AWFUL.