In my head, I always thought June 16 seemed like a good day to meet our tiny one...long before I realized it would be Father's Day. And now it's here and I don't think she's coming yet, but this still feels like the right time to honor Paul and this unique time in our lives.
When Paul walked down the stairs at the airport, late Friday night, we hugged and kissed tightly and the outside world of harsh lighting and tired people melted away. Two. We got a moment of two before three. Of course, priority one is that the baby comes when she's ready, but getting at least a day of two was huge for both of us.
Baby girl, who had just spent the past hour dancing, was quiet - no kicks - as we walked to the parking lot.
I opened my wallet to pay the ticket, shaking a bit with nerves, as you tend to do after your partner who been gone for four months suddenly appears in front if you as if by magic. (If "magic" = a long chain of delayed flights).
As I fumbled with the machine, Paul scratched my belly with one finger and asked, "how's she doing?"
So simple, so sweet, so normal. Deployments are funny. They turn normal upside-down. As a defense mechanism and to keep yourself sane, you forget "normal." When you once again have the privilege of such basic interactions, they hit you straight in the chest.
Oh yes, this. This, you remember, is why we do this. This is what I signed up for.
"She's good. She's so good."
Happy Father's Day, Paul. Whether our girl comes tonight, tomorrow or next Saturday, you're already her dad. We love you.