Ode to Hot Papas

Without giving you the details, let's start out by saying that I spent most of Sunday night being sick. Spontaneously. I called Mr. Shawn at band practice to tell him to come home early, as I suddenly couldn't manage on my own.

He was wonderful. He rushed home, got the baby out of her playpen and made sure I was doing okay before leaving me in peace.

Once I managed to get some sleep, and woke a few hours later with a powerful thirst, he brought me tissues and water and my phone and my blankie, hehe. All while holding a sleeping baby on his chest.

All of which served to remind me just how lucky I am to have the man that I have. A lot of men would have turned tail and run when their girlfriend of less than one year - and live-in for only one week - had woken them up one Wednesday morning with a positive pregnancy test. A lot of guys would have grumbled about the sudden dramatic drop off of sex during said pregnancy or pressured to get some even though their lady friend was feeling anything but. A lot of guys, including some husbands I know, would have gone home to sleep in a nice comfy bed while I coped alone with a newborn and ice diapers in a hospital room for two nights.

Not Mr. Shawn. I know I would have lost it during the early months without his support and shoulder to lean on. He has always been, as I knew he would be, an amazing father. Amid the sordid details of the night Violet was conceived, I very clearly remember telling him that I was only okay with us taking the risk of not using a condom because I knew he would be a good daddy.

And he is.