Fatherhood is loving you differently.
Every morning, some time around one o’clock, my wife wrestles herself free of the bed sheets and slogs her way to the living room. Half asleep and completely exhausted, she takes her position on the right side of the couch, unlatches her nursing bra, and gets to pumping. It’s a quiet time of night. Lit only by a small table lamp, my wife listens to the rhythmic motor of her pump, barking like a metronomic dog in the distant dark.
She grabs her iPad and checks to see if I’ve updated the blog. Some times I have, many times I haven’t. Yet she checks dutifully every night, just in case there’s something—anything—to pass the time. Tonight, there is.
Tonight, I’ve written a letter for Mother’s Day and published it with perfect timing for you, my wife.
I love you. And I don’t mean like I loved you in high school. When I loved you in high school, I was freshly wounded by Cupid’s arrow. Lovestruck. I was a boy, in love with a girl, under a teenage spell.
I love you. And I don’t mean like I loved you in college. When I loved you in college, I was beholden to you. You gave me everything: your time, your love, your endless understanding. I loved you for being the lover I couldn’t be, didn’t deserve, but had in spite of myself.
I love you. And I don’t mean like I loved you when we got married. When I loved you on our wedding day, I was awestruck. We were two trees, growing side by side in a forest, branches tangled in concert. An intertwined silhouette.
I love you. And I’m not exactly sure how to say this. One day, when we’re old and gray. When our kids are grandparents, and our great grandchildren are playing at our feet…maybe then I’ll look at you and speak the words it took me decades to find.
Until then, just know this: I love you. Greyson loves you. Charlotte loves you. Our children couldn’t be who they are without you. And neither could I. Thank you for being our wife, our mother…our everything.
Happy (First) Mother’s Day.
All my love,