dad-a-tude-a-thon: the best dad

 

Turning it over to the dad of dad’s–my husband Peter. Trumpets, drumroll, confetti.

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This guy, an accomplished biochemist and rock star research dude would rather be a father than really anything else (except maybe a baseball player, or like the star of a Broadway musical (except he can’t sing or dance, and btw, can you even do a parentheses within a parentheses) or maybe like, Larry Bird) This one is for you, Peter.

From the start, I knew we both wanted a family. After all, we went to the Children’s Museum as our first Boston date. Who does that?

At first we weren’t in any rush, and then when I found out I had major infertility, like “you will never have a baby” infertility when I was already 32, we were then in a very big rush, a major rush to get that egg and sperm together. It was three years. And after a miscarriage and a lot of pain I won’t drone on about, because you were there. But then and again, trumpets, drumroll, confetti–that boy–our boy–Jackson Robert Gabriel came into our world and you had a brand new name–Dada.

Three years later, that girl with enough hair to be a shampoo model, Alexandra Louise Christina rolled in, and you were done for.

When given a choice, you always choose your kids. You are, and I don’t exaggerate here, ALWAYS there for your offspring. You’re like the postman of fathers, the internet–available 24/7, 365 days a year. There isn’t a way that they could have won a bigger lottery than getting you as their dad.

Your patience is endless, your devotion is thorough, and your love for you children is selfless (sometimes too selfless). Yeah, you might be a little bit over the top, but damn, I envy those kids who have a father who is so totally and completely theirs.

Happy Father’s Day to the best guy who ever papa-ed kids. You’re it.

 

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Love you, Rama, best dad, ever.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

gratitude-a-thon day 415: the best dad

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The kids who made Peter a dad.

My husband Peter has a lofty resume. He’s a biochemist and he is hoping to bring a drug to market to help people with Parkinson’s disease. That’s pretty great, but what he’d probably tell you his real profession is, is being a dad.

It wasn’t easy for us to have kids. I had infertility that took up three years of our lives, made us cry and worry and have sex when we didn’t feel like it. It’s a longer story, isn’t everything a longer story, but let’s get to the good part. The part where all that fucking actually worked and we finally brought two kids into the world (not at the same time), but they got here and that’s all that really matters, because that’s how Peter got the job of his dreams.

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He’s grown up right alongside of them. Maybe that’s what happens for all of us.

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This is daddy’s little girl. God, she loves her father.

Peter was smitten from the moment curious and energetic Jake arrived. He slept in the hospital with us, and looked goo goo eyed, and not just from lack of shut eye, but from pure unadulterated joy. He took a bunch of time off to be with Jake and didn’t mind the hours like I did. He was in awe of our new boy, and while I was crabby and crazy from not sleeping, he was just happy. He seemed to be able to exist on a diet of bottles and dirty diapers. When Ally came tumbling down the birth canal a month early with a full head of hair, Peter had a new girl in his life. He fell hard and fast. Ally cried for the first six months of her life, the doctors never knew why. She was inconsolable, and so was I. But not her daddy. He never quavered in his affection or endless patience for her.

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Sharing her passion, Peter’s made himself into a soccer guy. Here they are at the mecca–a game in Barcelona.

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Excited to watch Barcelona play.

We’ve both given our all to parenting. But Peter has given everything. In every way. Those kids are like oxygen to him. He has grown up with them, and made most of the large choices in our lives for them. He has kissed boo boo’s better, nursed the fevers and viruses that kept them up at night, and spent hours and hours on math homework (I was useless by second grade on this front). He’s been to every baseball, basketball and soccer game each of them has ever played. And that is a lifetime, I can tell you. When his kids are in pain, he’s practically incapacitated. He guides Jake on his choices, he supports Ally’s love of soccer and travel schedule with the organization of the Secretary of State. He attends every out of the way game, rain, snow, blazing heat (and believe we’ve been to games in all those kinds of weather). While I give in to sleep, he always waits up for them, and will be the pick up dad at any time of the night. He will even drive Ally to school, which is approximately 90 seconds from here (I didn’t say everything he does is good, I just said he does it).

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And he graduates. No lack of tears that day, but a quiet acceptance of a new part of life.

So, here’s to a dad who is present, giving, and always there for his kids. A dad who almost wasn’t (and what a damn shame that would have been). Here’s to Peter for the job he does best. It’s not always easy, but you’ve pushed yourself and made two very awesome kids. They love you for it. And so do I.

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Even Riley thinks Peter’s a great dad.