Confessions of the Lesser Parent

My husband is a wonderful father.

Right from the git-go, the second I went into labor and calmly informed him "You are to take my hand and not let go...till it's over" and the man seriously did not so much as pee till 12 hours later when Alec made his entrance into the world.

Oh, there was that one time that he dropped the baby on his head, but not very far, and it WAS onto the carpeted floor.

But other than that, Ward's clearly the better parent.

Take a few nights ago.

Alec is sick- sore throat, fever, headache...and it broke night before last. Poor boy woke up twice in tears, which I know because Ward joggled me and asked "Is that Alec?"

The first time I surfaced to consciousness long enough to listen to the low, mournful, repetitive noise coming from the direction of my son's room. "No- I think that's coyotes" I mumbled, sinking back into slumber. Some time later (not much later, maybe a few minutes) I came fully awake since my nice warm husband wasn't next to me anymore.

I stumbled into the next room where he was already ministering to our son- feeling his head, calming him down, telling him it was going to be OK.

And while part of me searched for something that *I*, as The Mother, should be doing, the other part thought "Cool. It's all under control and I can go back to bed now- my side of the bed is probably still warm".

See?

And that's just one example. I got a million of 'em.

Seriously.