When I was carrying my babies in my womb, I was fascinated. Fascinated that life was deep within my body. Fascinated that the little life within me was a part of me, and a part of the man I love. Prayed for with hope, created with love, and birthed with painful joy . And as each new life emerged from my body, I chuckled at their daddy's resemblance. Each girl was complete with a head full of their daddy's raven black hair, dark eyes and his trademark ears. When I look at my daughters I adore the fact that I see a part of their daddy looking back at me.
When our first daughter was born daddy was overjoyed to have his little girl. With careful hands he bathed, clothed, changed and burped her. When I was overwhelmed with the responsibilities of motherhood, his hands held me while I cried. When our baby grew into the toddler years those hands gently wrestled with her, tickled her and wiped a few tears. As she grew to become a little girl the same hands were quick to discipline, yet always open for the hugs that followed. And now, a decade and three girls later, I marvel at those same hands still hard at work. Building a clubhouse in the woods, repairing a bicycle, fixing the plumbing for the millionth time (a common issue in our houseful of girls....), getting out a splinter, pulling loose teeth, combing quite possibly the most tangled hair, and working hard so that I am able to stay home to raise these girls of ours.
Someday he may be handing his responsibilities of patiently caring for them over to other men. That thought somewhat terrifies me. I can only hope and pray that their husbands will be as good a man as their daddy. Solid. Sensitive. Caring. Forgiving. Humble. Patient. Cautious. He has laid out a wonderful example for them. He may not be perfect; but in my opinion he's about as good as human perfection gets.
I love that man.
When our first daughter was born daddy was overjoyed to have his little girl. With careful hands he bathed, clothed, changed and burped her. When I was overwhelmed with the responsibilities of motherhood, his hands held me while I cried. When our baby grew into the toddler years those hands gently wrestled with her, tickled her and wiped a few tears. As she grew to become a little girl the same hands were quick to discipline, yet always open for the hugs that followed. And now, a decade and three girls later, I marvel at those same hands still hard at work. Building a clubhouse in the woods, repairing a bicycle, fixing the plumbing for the millionth time (a common issue in our houseful of girls....), getting out a splinter, pulling loose teeth, combing quite possibly the most tangled hair, and working hard so that I am able to stay home to raise these girls of ours.
Someday he may be handing his responsibilities of patiently caring for them over to other men. That thought somewhat terrifies me. I can only hope and pray that their husbands will be as good a man as their daddy. Solid. Sensitive. Caring. Forgiving. Humble. Patient. Cautious. He has laid out a wonderful example for them. He may not be perfect; but in my opinion he's about as good as human perfection gets.
I love that man.
beautiful tribute to your hubby...and your girls.
ReplyDelete