Dada

"If the new American father feels bewildered and even defeated, let him take comfort from the fact that whatever he does in any fathering situation has a fifty percent chance of being right." -- Bill Cosby

I know it's too early for Father's Day, it isn't my husband's birthday, and he didn't go out and buy me a new car or anything, but today I want to appreciate the Dada. And he's right much more than fifty percent of the time.

Maeve's Dada has not once, not ever, made me feel guilty about not working while Maeve is little, he has never complained about changing diapers, making bottles, or giving baths.  He cleans up her toys every night, sits with her in the back seat of the car on long trips, and carries the diaper bag or my purse without acting like it's beneath him.

Dada has so much fun with Maeve; he taught her how to turn pages in a book when she was six months old, he sings her silly songs that don't rhyme or make any sense, he spends hours just putting objects on his head and waiting for Maeve to yank them off.

Dada doesn't spoil Maeve, doesn't give her too many cookies or let her do things she isn't supposed to do. He makes sure her finger foods are nice and tiny so she doesn't choke, and he quickly hides from her anything that looks dangerous, when he can.  He doesn't tickle her longer than she thinks it's funny, he lets her do her own thing when she's playing.

It turns out that the best way to make sure your husband will be a good dad is to marry an awesome person.

Dada loves Maevie