Father’s Day

I giggle to myself a lot when I think about the birth of my children while Brad would be "watching" very reluctantly from the safety of the farthest corner. 

Brad hates hospitals, hospital food, doctors (as the patient), needles, blood, procedures or testing of any sort, or anything else that pertains to illness or injury. He's also not the type to idle and wait well. So labor and delivery? Not really up his alley. 

Do I dream about a husband that could flipping hold my hand (or my leg) when I push? Sure. But that's not Brad's forte. And it's okay because I could handle it. We fill the gaps for each other. 

I can't make gravy. Legit. It's awful. But my husband can. So I make the babies and he makes the gravy (there are no small roles). 😂

I walk around huffing and muttering *very subtly* “I have to do everything around here,”

But the truth is, you take care of us.  Without fail. I haven't ever had to give it a second thought or know a moment's doubt or worry. You make the hard days easy.

I take that for granted sometimes. But know that under my sarcasm, there is a solid layer of love, trust, and gratitude in and for the incredible blessing you are to us. 

Happy Father's Day to my favorite vanquisher of squirrels. We'd be overrun without you.