an ode to daddy

From the day I first laid eyes on Mr. Bell on a sunny September day, I've had a spring in my step and a flutter in my heart. For almost ten years, I had him all to myself. He was my Friday night date and the one I could always count on for a Sunday afternoon nap. He rivals Emeril on the grill and makes a mean cup of coffee. He rarely wears anything other than a baseball hat and blue jeans, and my friends, he wears them well. He is the voice I love to hear, the blush on my cheek, the hand I love to hold. He's my person. And I am his.

The time I first had to share him was on the day we welcomed our baby boy into the world. On a late May evening, Brian gave a piece of his heart away.

He has always wanted a son. Someone to do boy things with.
Because, apparently, I don't hunt right.
How was I to know that perfume and pearls don't go with camouflage?

From that late night in May, my heart has fallen all over in love with the man I call husband, and who our little person affectionately calls, "Da Da."

Our date nights are a little less frequent. And his blue jeans often have traces of Nilla Wafer crumbs. And our Sunday afternoon naps are now three deep.

And I think that's just the way I like it.

Moments like these,
with Baker fishing from Brian's knee,

 

and early morning pancake picnics,

 

and too fast rides on a too big toy

 

these are the moments I will forever remember.