Lucky Lenny

"Be a dad. Don't be 'Mom’s assistant.' That's depressing, just waiting for her to write you a list, walk around a store staring at it, calling her from the cereal aisle to make sure you got the right thing. Be a man. Make your own list. Fathers have skills that they never use at home. You run a landscaping business and you can’t dress and feed a 4-year-old? Take it on. Spend time with your kids and have your own ideas about what they need. It won’t take away your manhood; it will give it to you. I did that. I spent more time with my kids. And I found out that I’m a pretty bad father. I make a lot of mistakes and I don't know what I'm doing. But my kids love me. Go figure."

-- Louis C.K.

Daddy Jackpot

I called it, you guys.

It was Lenny's fourth day on the planet and our first full day at home with her.  I was exhausted, disoriented and not that I knew it then, in a weird, muted state of panic.  Pretty much the only thing that made me feel better was watching The Robeau scoop our crying infant up and walk her around the living room singing her Tea for Two.  

She responded to him fully, right from the very beginning.  She just sort of melted into him.  Her whole tiny body would just relax and I could exhale.  At least a little bit.

I'm not gonna lie.  I felt a little left out at first.  For a while, their bond was so strong I felt like a third wheel. Of course, over time dynamics shifted, I got well (err - or at least less not-well) and as Lenny grew we developed our own bond.  Now we feel like a trio.  I'm with the band! 

Still, nobody makes her smile like her daddy does.  Nothing sounds as wonderful to my ears as the belly laughs that he elicits from her.  He is totally, completely, one hundred percent dedicated to her happiness and wellbeing.  What a gift.  

When I asked him what he wanted for Father's Day he made a face.  He's not in it for the glory, people.  Hanging out with his daughter is gift enough.  But then he said we could make him eggs.  And then they wrote about it on the Huffington Post...so...there I go cocking up the "no glory" part.  

I took that totally adorable photo in New Orleans just before we headed to the courthouse to get married.  And now, I've been referred to as "his wife" on the Huffington Post so it's really official.

We love you to bits, Jim Clayton.  Thank you for always making us feel loved and safe.  Today, we'll make sure you get the big piece of chicken.