Sunday I mentioned how much “my dad rocks”, now I will talk about how much Jonathan’s dad rocks.

Hubby was worried about being a dad. He didn’t really have a father figure growing up, with exception to his grandfather. His parents split when he was two or three and his mom moved her children thousands of miles away to California. He reunited with his grandfather years later, but still does not have contact with his real father.

His grandfather is a stubborn man, who makes us want to scream in frustration at times, but he was also a good father-figure who taught Hubby to honor women, respect family, and most of all to keep his word.

Hubby took my word when I told him we were having a girl the entire nine months of my pregnancy. So much for women’s intuition. We had a boy.

Hubby didn’t care if we had a girl or a boy. He didn’t talk about playing ball with a boy or taking him fishing or hunting or any of that stuff. Maybe that was because 1) he doesn’t hunt or fish and 2) he has nieces and has learned that they like to do that “boy stuff” too.

My labor was fairly long and Hubby was there through it all. He barely ate or slept for 23 1/2 hours straight, right along with me. At one point, standing in the shower attempting to pee (the nurse told me it might relieve some pressure, but I don’t care how hard I tried I could not pee for anything! Every time I would relax enough to do so another contraction would hit), Hubby approached me and I put my arms around his neck and leaned into him. I sobbed and sobbed.

I hope he doesn’t mind me writing this, but he cried right along with me, telling me he hated to see me in so much pain. We were both exhausted basket cases. I remember thinking, in between the contractions, how glad I was that he was there with me.

Of course, there was part of me who also wished he wasn’t there seeing what I felt was the worst side of me — weeping, making ugly faces and covered in blood, urine and sweat. Real attractive. Probably made him want to marry me all over again. Ha. Ha.

When Jonathan finally decided he could pull himself away from whatever he was doing in my womb, the midwife first handed him to me and then, once the umbilical cord was cut and Jonathan was cleaned off a little, he was in his dad’s arms. Hubby was exhausted, sick to his stomach from all the stress and probably starving. Despite it all, the look of amazement on his face as he stared into the eyes of his son was priceless.

And the way he now interacts with his son — kissing him, lifting him in the air, taking him for walks, holding him on his lap during Veggie Tales DVDs, tickling him until they both collapse in laughter on the floor — melts my heart and makes me fall in love all over again with the man who caught my gaze with his beautiful blue eyes and even more beautiful heart.

I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have to worry anymore if he’s going to be a good father or not. The absolute delight that crosses our son’s face when he sees his daddy is proof enough of what a good father Hubby is.