A Brief Love Letter

Upon re-reading my first post I realized two things: (1) I may have accidentally depicted my husband Matt as unhelpful and disengaged; and (2) those were some really unflattering pictures of Gabriel.

The second item is easily remedied: here, everyone, look at my preshus wittle baybee! He is sooooo cute! I mean seriously, do you see those fat little cheeks? Don't you just want to smooch them? And trust me, the back of his neck smells so good. It makes me a little giddy just thinking about that powdery, slighly milky smell.

The first item is perhaps not so easily remedied, but I am going to try. The thing is, Matt is pretty much the best dad ever. Seriously. We have many friends who also have small children, so I have observed many, many dads in action. And these guys are good dads; they help with midnight feedings, they read books to their kids and do all of the voices, they coach winless AYSO soccer teams.

Matt just smokes them all.

It began while I was in labor (a rather drawn-out affair, lasting approximately forty-seven hours and followed by an unplanned c-section). Matt spent two solid days and nights in my hospital room perched on the most uncomfortable bench in all existence, rising only to bring me ice water when I needed it, to hold my hand when I felt scared, or to update our parents on my progress ("Three centimeters dilated." "Three centimeters dilated." "Three centimeters dilated." "OK, they give up, they're going to cut her open now."). He was brave for me during the c-section itself, making little jokes to keep me calm and cheerful.

When they actually lifted Gabe over the surgical draping so that we could see him for the first time, that was it. Matt was a goner. I have never seen a daddy so thoroughly entranced by his child. While I recovered, he spent that first evening trailing along behind a nurse as Gabe was weighed, measured, and bathed, all the while with this crazy, goofy grin on his face, his eyes locked on this new little person.

Six and a half months later, that grin still hasn't gone away. Every morning, when Gabe begins stirring in his crib, Matt is up like a flash to go see him and kiss him and change his wet diaper. Matt has replaced all the "rock en Espanol" CDs in his car with children's music (including a particularly painful "Mickey Mouse Sings the Hits" CD that I purchased on a whim and found unlistenable), and he sings along heartily because "Gabe likes to hear my voice in the car." Matt, formerly the biggest social butterfly I've ever met, who used to have dinner plans with various friends no less than six nights a week, now dashes home just on the hope that Gabe will still be awake and ready for a bedtime story.

In short, Matt's entire universe has shifted to put this one tiny person at the center. And sometimes I look at them in the mornings as they sit on our bed, Matt and Gabe both bent over the sports section (Matt not even trying to read about his beloved USC football, but instead letting Gabe crumple up the newspaper because "Gabe loves paper, isn't that funny?"), and I am so overwhelmed with love and gratitude that I can hardly breath.

I am blessed to have this wonderful man as my husband, and Gabe is blessed to have him as a father. We are so very, very lucky.