The most important thing a father can do for his children is to love their mother.
Let me be clear. Being a father is by far my greatest achievement, and my two sons are the yardstick by which I measure my value as a person. My love for them transcends any emotion I have ever known. It is love that hurts and tickles deep in my solar plexus.
This is not an indictment of fatherhood. Fatherhood is my essence. No, this is a celebration of motherhood. I did it for my wife. I did it because she asked. I did it because she covered the birth control all these years. She suffered 3 miscarriages in 12 months. She carried 2 babies, one of which required bed rest and the other a cerclage (look it up, not pretty). She nursed and she sang and she cradled. And did everything that a world-class mother does to make their children thrive.
Let’s be honest here; we men do very little in the baby making department beyond popping in for an early bedside visit. After that we cheerlead as convincingly as possible. Then our wife delivers us a ripe watermelon through an ant hole as we watch in a state of OMFG I see his head. Then she’s up all night for months while we murmur something about I wish I could breastfeed him honey so you could get some rest. And then one day, the boys are 2 and 4 and they could not be more beautiful. More cheeky. More quizzical. More impish and playful and zesty and scrumptious. And you look at them and cry for no reason. And then you look at her and wonder how did I get this lucky.
Then one day, out of the blue, your wife says, I think I want you to get snipped because my body cannot deal with the pill anymore and frankly, I don’t want to think about another child. And, at first, you think, wow, that’s a rather aggressive approach to the problem. But then you start to think glass half full. I certainly don’t want another child. We all fit in a car so nicely. And birth control. No more, be careful, I’m ovulating. No more anything other than sex whenevs. And as you stare incredulously at 50 with your 2 magical boys climbing and giggling on your back, you figure, she’s beyond worth it.
And so, for Father’s Day I got snipped. There really was nothing to it, given the modern out-patient methodology. In fact, nothing has changed. I’m still pinching myself for being so goddamned lucky. And my Father’s Day, complete with brekkie in bed, The Cat in the Hat and my 2-yr old’s 1st poop in the potty could not have been any sweeter.