It’s Mother’s Day Eve, and I’d like to send out a warm ‘I f-in love you, man’ to my husband, Rob. Robert. Roberto. Mister Man. You know, that guy. Why? Well for starters, he tells me if I have boogers. He stays out of my way when I get the ‘oh my god I have to do this RIGHT NOW’ bug (like today when I rearranged our living room). He’s very, very handsome with a hell of a brain to boot. He’s 50% of our daughter’s DNA, and because he calls me ‘Super Mom’ at least four times a week.
Can I just tell you how nice that is? To be validated on a regular basis, and to feel like what you’re doing is the right thing. Even when it’s telling your kid “oh my GOD can you just chill out for a second? Do we REALLY need to be crying about the sun being in your eyes? Cover them with your hands you dodo bird!” I mean maybe not the best delivery but I work 40+ hours a week and sometimes I just can’t with the tantrums.
He nurtures our daughter’s creativity, curiosity, and general development into a really neat little human. He is paying attention and is actively participating in this whole parenting thing. That, in my opinion, is a big fuckin’ deal. (Example: when she demands that we ALL put on tutus and spin in circles he doesn’t disappear – he puts that shit on and spins with his arms over his head like a prima ballerina. I have video proof.)
So, while tomorrow is Mother’s Day and I’m ‘Super Mom’, Rob is half the reason why. I love you, man.