On Fatherhood: From Daughter to Wife



My Dad was the one with all of the answers. And sometimes, still is. Not much of a talker, or one who voluntarily shares his opinion. He’s quietly fascinating. Genes are so incredible. For while my son shares his face, my daughter shares his love of birds and butterflies. And everything that grows and makes this world beautiful.

When Mom went to work at night on weekends, Dad was there. He replicated the Egg McMuffin and made the fudgiest brownies you could imagine. He built the treehouse in the backyard and showed me how butterflies hatched from cocoons.

My husband had big shoes to fill. And while he’s so very different from my Dad in so many ways, they are alike in their amazing ability to step in and not only be Daddy, but Mommy, when she’s not around or not available.

For the first four months of my daughter’s life, she would only sleep on my husband’s chest.  She was a colicky baby and soothed by his warmth and strong arms. Hours spent rocking her to sleep often didn’t compare to the comfort she felt curled up in his protection.  They still share an incredible and undeniable bond, along with a love of all things anime.

Time is always at a premium in our house. Support is not. While I sneak off to some corner of the house to pen a particularly difficult post. or fly to the other end of the country, he is there, being every bit the parent that I am. Arranging for play dates, making dinner, goodnight hugs and kisses, and stories by night light.

If there’s any question as to what kind of a job he’s doing, ask my son what he wants to be when he grows up. His answer:  “A daddy.”