here's to you

You, dad. You who seemingly has no grasp of the concept of a condom, or of the ever-popular and ever-failing "pull-out", you who watched that lovely girl you met in that seedy bar/chatroom/coffee shop go from a pin-up for this to a pin-up for this. Here's to you who endured the turkey basters or the in-vitro clinic or grueling, horrifying torture that is the adoption process. Here's to you, spending the better part of nine months with your hand on a tummy and hardly ever actually feeling that kick or hiccup, but still pretending that you could and that is was cooler than naked chicks playing golf in Vegas. Here's to you, leg-shaver, back-rubber, tear-catcher, toe-nail painter. Here's to you, sitting through Lamaze and breastfeeding class, reading What to Expect even though YOU weren't expecting, listening to old Bill Cosby albums, trying to make something, ANYTHING, out of those ultra-sound pictures, painting and re-painting rooms, baby-proofing your toilet with such efficiency not even you could even use it again, putting together more plastic crap than you could ever imagine, silently watching as your John Wayne movies were quietly packed away and replaced with Baby Einstein videos, as your golf clubs were moved out of the trunk and the stroller was moved in, waving goodbye to your shiny sportscar and saying hello to your new mini-van. Here's to you, you can drive from home to the hospital in under 2 minutes (well, that bit's sorta fun, no?). Here's to you getting bitten and punched and kicked and screamed at for hours and hours and then instantly forgetting about it after the baby came, or you who flew half-way across the world and back again for your baby. Here's to you enduring the trips to the store for Tucks medicated pads and the lanolin and the maxi-pads the size of dictionaries. Here's to you, getting up in the middle of the night with us, trying to help with the feeding, almost but not throwing up at your first diaper changes. Here's to you teaching your daughters how to fart and your sons how to cook. Here's to you, who endure hours of Legos and tea parties, whose lap magically turned into a carnival ride with no prior notice or permission. Here's to you eating macaroni and cheese with hot dogs and Spaghettios and Cheerios and pretending you love it. Here's to you whose house will never be clean again, who will still get to play that guitar but will have to learn the Dora theme on it, whose savings will be smaller and whose den will be usurped by Toys R Us, whose briefcase will always have a Matchbox and a Binkie in it. Here's to you, sanding down Pinewood Derby cars and changing Princess costumes 15 times a day. Here's to you who will justify watching Clint Eastwood videos with your children, almost convincingly, and will do all of this with a smile and a heart that is big and wide.

Dads, all of you. Your kiddies love you. Your kiddies mommas love you, too. None of it would be the same without you.

Thanks, dads.