Last Friday, Mike took Beatrice and I out for a date.
That guy. He knows how to treat his girls right.
A friend recommended a little winery that sits on a lake not too far from us, so we decided to check it out. It was a beautiful night. Beatrice and I put on summer dresses. We took the scenic route.
The winery did not disappoint. The parking situation was a bit of a hassle, and we didn’t know how to place our order initially, but those views. That water! We sat right next to the lake, and it was basically perfect.
We walked over to the dock while we waited on our pizza so I could take Mike and Bea’s photo. A woman asked if we wanted her to take a picture of all three of us, so I said yes. I look like a total dweeb, so no, you don’t get to see the photo, sorry.
As the woman went back to her seat, she commented on Bea.
“I remember those days,” she said. “Before you know it, they’re 21 years old, like my daughter.” She motioned to the girl sitting next to her.
The rest of the evening, I would occasionally glance at the the mother-daughter pair. I would hear the mother say something that would make her daughter laugh, or exclaim an embarrassed “mom!”
I looked at my girl, who fussed every now and then in my lap, and wondered what our life together was going to be like.
Bea fussed louder, so I pulled my chair around to face the water and nursed her as I looked out at the boats and Mike talked to me in between bites of pizza.
It feels good to be doing this motherhood thing together with him. I’m glad my sons have a father like him. But maybe, even more, I’m glad my daughter has a father like him.
Every girl should have a dad like Mike.
A dad who knows when their mom needs to put on a summer dress and eat pizza by the lake, even if the parking was annoying to figure out.
A dad who knows that his kids are calm and happy after breastfeeding, and never asks mom to do it somewhere else.
A dad who comments just as much on inner qualities as he does on outer beauty.
A dad who believes in her, and will encourage her and defend her and challenge her to grow and become, but to also be.
That kind of dad.
As we drove home that night, with Bea happy and asleep in her car seat and me, happy and content in the front seat, I thought about how it’s not exactly luck that we have a husband and father like Mike. It’s not luck, because he works at it. He works harder at being a husband and father than he does at anything else, and trust me, he is the hardest working man I know.
So no, I won’t say that I feel lucky. I feel grateful, deeply grateful. Grateful that he chooses every day to wake up and work at being the type of man that this woman and his little girl need.