Why I Love my BabyDaddy

This morning, my hubby took off before the sun had risen to get to work. Call it hormones if you want, but seeing him working so hard and doing whatever it takes to keep us OK just makes me warm and fuzzy inside.

My hubs is a masonry contractor…that’s right – go ahead and call us if you need an amazing fireplace, patio, or outdoor kitchen.

And the housing industry, if you haven’t heard, has crashed. It’s like a tornado whizzed right on through the Land of Builders, picked us all up, and now we’re all roaming around Oz trying to find the Yellow Brick Road.

It would be much easier to find it if someone would pay my husband to build the darn thing.

This man has taken care of me through it all – graduate school, job changes, backpacking trips through Europe, you name it. And now he’s continuing to do so, even when he receives bad checks from companies far wealthier than ours, even when other contractors twist their big ‘ole rusty knives in his back, and even when there are only two new houses being built in our entire city.

When a homeowner called him recently, raging, upset, and irrational because her job was behind schedule, my husband did not say everything that his wife wanted to say (which I assure you, would have begun and ended very, very badly).

His response? “Ma’am, this must be so frustrating for you, and you have paid a lot of money to have it done the way you wanted it done. I’ll call you back in five minutes and let you know what time we’ll be there this weekend to have it finished for you.”

Harrison, that’s who your daddy is.

Just so you know, kiddo – ever since we found out you were coming, he’s been burning the midnight oil. You have wainscoting, a closet full of clothes, a new teddy bear, and a drawer just for diapers because Dad made sure of it. And it most certainly wasn’t easy for him.

So in sixteen years, when you’re ticked off about your 11:30 p.m. curfew and the fact that you’re driving a 2008 Toyota Prius, this will be the blog that I put in front of you to read over and over again until your little hormone-addled self understands how lucky you are to have what you have.

Don’t forget the good stuff about Dad – how he taught you to throw tennis balls all the way into the lake for the dogs, analyze the stock market and play pinball at the same time, catch bass, and do the perfect Beavis and Butthead impression.

Happy Father’s Day to the World’s Greatest BabyDaddy. The next eighteen years are gonna be awesome, sweetie.