When I met Michael 23 years ago, I knew pretty quickly that I'd found my person. (After our first official date I called my best friend and told her, he's the one.) But all through our whirlwind courtship (we were engaged in less than a year and married ten months after that), it never occurred to me to wonder what kind of father he'd be. I knew that he would always be my best friend and safe haven, and that he'd make me laugh often, but as I'd never been the kind of girl with fantasies of marriage and parenthood, the thought never crossed my mind.
How lucky I've been. Especially in this past year of major changes and unbearable stresses in our lives, Michael has been my rock and the glue holding everything together, from getting up at 4:30AM to put Garrick on the French class's bus to Quebec to ensuring that Quinlan was properly decked out for the ninth grade dance. He's cooked the family dinners, refereed the fights, negotiated the bedtimes, overseen the chores. For the last year, he's been the complete parental package.
In taking such good care of our kids, Michael's given me the freedom to work the hours needed to prove myself at my new and incredibly challenging job. He's allowed me the space to spend time with my mother as we grieve my father's slow passing over and over together. And he's picked up all the pieces when I come home at the end of the day completely spent, incapable of doing more than taking off my clothes and going to bed.
I couldn't have chosen anyone better to make babies with.