To my Husband on Father's Day.

You fix the things.
You open the jars.
You build the things.
You give the hugs.
You give the directions.
You make the food.
You correct them.
You pack the lunches.
You praise them.
You've given the medicines.
You've changed the diapers.
You've shhhhh'd the crying.
You've kissed the tears.
You've clapped after the performances.
You've cried at the cuteness.
You've painted the nurseries and bedrooms.
You've laughed at the jokes.
You've folded the clothes.
You've put on the shoes.
You've pony-tailed the hair.
You've read the books.
You've prayed the prayers.

You've set the bar.

From the beginning you've been in this with me.
You don't just wear the title Dad, you've earned it.
They love you with all of their little pink and spiderman-themed hearts
They think you're the best. The fixer.

And so do I.

You know how important you are to them. You know how you will influence who they chose.

There is no other man who could do what you do.

You're amazing.
You're so cute.
You're the best, Craig.

I love you. (And so do they.)

Happy Father's Day. Or, as Lila would write, "Happe Dabi's Day."

(You're seriously getting cuter.)
P.S. Remember that one time we had our first baby? Remember how she was born about five minutes before midnight on Father's Day?


That was cool. (Read here.)


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