Rockabye Maxwell. It’s 12:07 a.m., and I’m listening to my husband sing rockabye to our bitty boy in the next room. Our bean refuses to sleep, and so I rocked for an hour and then […]
Rockabye Maxwell. It’s 12:07 a.m., and I’m listening to my husband sing rockabye to our bitty boy in the next room. Our bean refuses to sleep, and so I rocked for an hour and then handed our little over to my husband.
I’m a stay-at-home mom, and I’d love to take every shift—7 p.m. to 7 a.m. and then back again so that my husband might sleep—but nothing soothes our little boy like swinging in the strong arms of the man he loves most. Our baby has a crush on his dad, and, ya know what? He’s not the only one …
You’re an amazing father. Our joyful boy gets a serious case of the giggles just from being around you—he laughs at your smile and your glasses and your jokes—and you’re the one he wants around when he’s frightened or scared.
Does he get it from me? I’ve always depended on you for the very things that Max admires. You’re quick with jokes and fast with solutions; you fill us with laughter and keep us safe. Husband, you’re Pictionary and firewood, dance parties and oil changes, silly impressions and bills paid on time. You give goodbye kisses in the morning, work a strenuous 8-5, and then fill our evenings with lake walks, stroller rides, and trips to the dog park.
You asked me to marry you after we’d been dating for five months. But, love? I would have said yes so much sooner. I saw how much you loved your family, and I wanted to be a part of that. And you know what else? I never thought much about being a mother until I met you. You, with your easy laughter, steely determination and big heart, made me want to fill a home with babes just like you. I wanted more of you five years ago, and I still do. Let’s keep this thing going.
We got pregnant in 2014, and we welcomed a darling baby boy on April 13, 2015. The delivery nurses said he looked just like you, and I’ve had the best 9 months of my life watching him emulate your strength, your silliness and your wisdom. Thank you for you, and thank you for being a role model for our boy.
And Max? I want you to know that your dad dresses you in Badger red on Saturday and Packer green on Sunday. He holds you close as Aaron Rodgers throws Hail Marys and Joel Stave throws interceptions. Don’t worry, he’ll teach you Brewer’s baseball in April. And bonus? You’ll have the best fantasy team. Be prepared for other kids to ask your data-loving dad for scouting tips and game-day strategy (if the batting average is .293, then batter-up against the Diamondbacks).
Hey, hubs? We’re usually too busy laughing to thank you for keeping us so happy and safe, and so I’m doing it here and now. You’re my favorite, and nothing makes me happier than knowing our little boy feels exactly the same way.
We love you,