On Paul's first birthday as a dad, I wrote about a few of the reasons we loved him. And those are still true today. He is just as crazy about these girls and still gives me a lot of grace in the yoga pants department. But now that he's been a dad for two full years and is about to be the dad of three little girls, I wanted to publicly honor the man that makes our little world spin round. I really don't praise him enough or give him credit for how much he sacrifices for our little family. While I've finally got my act together (for the most part...I reference the phrase 'act together' in a very loose way and it's just in time to lose all semblance of order and routine again anyway), there are still days where I haven't had a chance to shower and the girls were cranky while I was cooking and doesn't he realize I've sacrificed my body and sometimes my sanity for these children. Totally dramatic and childish and, thankfully, few and far between. But he takes it in stride, loves on our girls, chases them around the living room, and gets them in their pajamas with their teeth brushed and giggles ringing out from the hallway upstairs.
I forget sometimes that while my life looks very different today, so does his. He works hard and handles our finances in such a wise way so that I can stay home. Before us, he made money and had to worry about just him. And now he carries the burden of providing for three other people, single-handedly. {And it's amazing how much two 2-year-olds can eat. Plus a pregnant wife.} He graciously supports my decision to feed our family primarily organic, healthy food even though he could probably care less whether something has high fructose corn syrup or red dye in it or not. In fact, he's indulged a lot of my ideas that he probably thinks are hogwash--ahem, teething necklaces.
When I married Paul, I knew he would be a good dad. I didn't realize that he would be a great dad. The kind who truly enjoy their children, who gladly help with dinner and bed time routines and the often unreasonable demands of a toddler who asks you to sing Jingle Bells no less than 18 times during one meal. He's the kind who puts the girls down in their cribs each night with a kiss and a prayer. And that's who they want to do it. Not mom. Pshh.
He's the kind who will do the Sofia the First puzzle 6 times in a row. And when he walks in the door from a long day and a draining battle with traffic and hears a tiny voice saying, 'Daddy, sit. Help do the puzzle!' he doesn't even cringe or say, 'In a minute.' {Whereas, by that point, I'm ready to burn any and all Sofia puzzles.}
He's the kind who will happily wear a baby anywhere. Moby, Ergo, you name it...he'll do it.
He's the kind who makes experiences like shopping for cousins' birthday presents and aquariums and pumpkin patches and swinging and sliding so much fun. Way more fun than I could ever dream to make it.
He's the kind who brushes the girls' hair every night just before they go to bed. And the kind who keeps Lambie safe while he's playing pool with the guys. {And, oddly, doesn't question why his wife is taking a picture of his derriere.} The kind who patiently lets them play with his hair or help him button his shirt or 'tie' his shoes. And has even uttered the words, 'I think they need more bows.'
And when people say to me, 'Well, I hope this one is a boy!' I think how thankful I am that she is not. Because I already know what a great dad to girls this man is and I know she's the luckiest, most blessed baby girl to have him for her daddy.
Happy Birthday, Paul Wendell. We love you so much more than we could ever say. {Also, a little disclaimer, I'm really glad I have a whole year to plan for your 30th because this post, your present, and dinner are really lame compared to what you did for me this year. But I love you just as much, I promise.}
