A Tribute to the Daddy-to-Be on His Birthday...

Perhaps it’s the hormones making me feel sentimental, but I have this urge to share how wonderful I think Chris is, and what better day to say it than on his birthday. Don’t worry, it’s not all sappy. Keep reading…

Recent events gave me the opportunity to really see Chris as a caregiver. Naturally, there has always been that element in our relationship; I’ve always felt that I could count on him for anything. But last week, when struck by food poisoning and feeling absolutely helpless, he showed me that he had the fortitude that a father should possess.

Throughout the pregnancy, so far, Chris has proved that he wanted to be involved. He’d wake me up in the middle of the night to tell me to lie on my left side because lying on my back was not good for me and the baby. He watched what I ate and was relentless in having me follow the doctor’s dietary instructions… never letting me cheat, not even just a little. To make matters worse, he’s started to give me cute little pet names like “big ol’ girl” and “fatty.” Honestly, I was beginning to doubt that he’d actually survive the pregnancy.

But then, I imagined the other end of the spectrum. He could simply not care how I’m doing or how the baby is doing. But instead, he actually reads about how we’re progressing and he’s come with me to as many doctor appointments he could. He’s proven that he cares.

Recently, he proved it again when I became possessed by demons… or at least it felt that way. I mean I hadn’t been this sick since consuming a toxic mixture of beer, wine, tequila, and bong hits. Normally, this is the part where one would say, “I’ll spare you the details” but in this case, I don’t think I will…

It all started with some violent projectile vomiting into the bath tub. It came over me with virtually no warning. Chris pounded on the door wanting to get in to help me and I just kept yelling, “go away!” He barged in anyway while I was washing my face and, although I’d insisted that he not, he began to clean the mess, all the while complimenting me on how far I'd made it up the tile on the walls. At that point, I didn’t argue anymore. It gave me the chance to brush my teeth and go to bed. But that wasn’t the end of it. If you’ve ever had food poisoning, you know what I mean. It’s miserable. I proceeded to get up all night long, time and time again. It almost seemed as if my stomach was on a timer and needed to evacuate every 1.5 hours. Each time, there was Chris, getting out of bed right behind me with a cold wash cloth to place on the back of my neck as he held my hair and gently rubbed my back. And during the hours following this ordeal, Chris was there to make me feel guilty about not eating all day because it “just can’t be good for the baby.”

I was amazed by how tender and sweet he was during that time and I’ve been so impressed by his devotion to his daughter before we’ve had the chance to meet her in person. He’s a great guy and will make one hell of a father. And if he keeps the fat jokes to a minimum, he’ll actually live to become one.