But I never tease him about being a dad.
My dad was gone for most of my childhood. He was doing what dads did back then--working. In addition to the military, my father fixed up antique clocks, taught a college class or two, worked weekends at various civilian hospitals, and earned two college degrees. He still works, approaching 80. It is who he is. But he wasn't around for most of my childhood, and that is just the way it was. My expectations for my husband weren't very high, as a result.
From the very first day of Zane' s life, his father has been there. For the first three days, he was the only parent there, while I was recovering(Zane and I were the hospital's only double code blue). He changed Zane's first poopy diaper in the NICU. Once we all came home, Larry carried Zane around, showing him the high points of the house. They're sometimes inseparable, and I am sometimes a little jealous.
One area of motherhood where I often fall short is patience. I don't like to repeat myself. I get irritated. I raise my voice. I've gotten better, but I am sure that I will be working on patience for the rest of my life.
Larry is patient with our son. He takes the time to explain things like rules; where my usual answer is "Because I said so." He will let Zane sound out the words in a book, no matter how long it takes, where I usually just say the word to move the story along. I could go on, but I'm starting to get a complex.
My husband is there. He is a vital part of my son's life. He is not hiding in the garage, or parked in front of the computer. He is coaching soccer. He is kissing boo boos. He is listening to the same song over 40 times in a row.
He is being a dad. I love him for that.