Happy Father's Day to My Husband, the Sap!


There’s no question that when Little Lewie was born, I became overly sentimental. In fact, I think my gushiness may have even started the moment I found out I was pregnant. I would get teary eyed at the mere sight or sound of a baby. In fact, even now, there is a list of things that I need to stay away from if I want to keep my composure. Some items on this list include
• Lullabies

• Storybooks, especially The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein and Love You Forever by Robert Munsch

• Baby clothes, especially little booties

• Baby mobiles (again, the music gets to me)

• Cuddly stuffed animals

• Mother’s Day and Father’s Day cards

Just as recently as this week, I was looking at several Father’s Day cards, when I read one that got me so emotional, I had to bury myself into the corner of the store and hide. I grabbed my sunglasses and attempted to walk out of the store looking calm and collected. What happened to me?!

Well, I’m happy to say that I’m not the only one in the family who cries at the mere thought of having Little Lewie in my life. Big Lewie, my husband, has become a sap, too. Big time! His first noticeable outburst happened while I was pushing Little Lewie from my vagina. He stood by my side, amazed, with tears streaming down his face. Of course, his tears turned to all out sobbing as the doctor handed us our precious, tiny newborn. It was a sight that will be forever embedded in my mind.

From that day on, I watched my husband’s mommy gene kick in. Time and time again, my husband would be the first to offer to give him a bath, change his clothes, give him a bottle, rock him to sleep, and even change his diaper. He was proud to take care of Little Lewie’s basic needs and even prouder when it came to dressing Little Lewie and showing him off. “I’ll pick out his clothes,” my husband insisted one day as he pushed me away from the closet. “Little Lewie, how do you like this little foggy and chickie outfit? It’s going to look so cute on you, my little L.L. Cool J (stands for Little Lewie “Cool” Jayden). He’d very neatly dress his son into the most adorable outfit he could find and then brush our little boy’s blonde, curly hair into one of many styles. I couldn’t help but laugh as my macho, Metallica loving, tattoo covered husband turned into our son’s hairstylist. “Little Lewie…today we are going to spike your hair,” or “today, we are going to slick down your hair and give you the professional CEO look. Well, look at you. Is my Little Lewie ready for an interview? You look so dapper.”

As my husband spoke to our son, his voice would easily climb up three or four octaves. He would endearingly call our little boy names like Chubby Knuckles, Little Chubby Custard, and Skids. Of course, most of the time, both of us would just sound like a bunch of bumbling, repetitious idiots. “Little Lewie, you are so cute. How did you get so cute, Little Lewie? You are so amazing. Look at you. We love you so much. Oh we love you oh so much, Little Lewie.” (I think you get the idea.)

My husband’s true testament of love for our son came the day he decided to shave off his goatee. I had fallen asleep in the recliner, only to wake up to my husband’s face being an inch away from my own. “You scared me,” I said, startled.

“Well, what do you think?” he asked while stroking his shiny, naked chin.

“Am I dreaming?” I asked, completely serious.

“I shaved off my goatee,” my husband announced, still thinking I hadn’t noticed the change.

“You look so young. I can’t believe it.”

“Do you think I look funny?” he asked. “I know I have a big upper lip that I’m used to hiding with my mustache.”

“No, you look great. I always thought you should shave it all off. Why the change now?”

“Well, you know, Little Lewie does have sensitive skin, and I really think I’ve been irritating it lately from kissing him so much. I don’t want to give him a rash.”

Nice, I thought to myself. Oh how I couldn’t stand that prickly mustache. For the six years we’d been together, he never once thought about shaving it off for me, but three months after the baby’s arrival, and it was gone. We later learned that Little Lewie’s reddish skin irritation was a form of baby eczema due to a milk allergy, but nonetheless, my husband showed he was willing to do anything for our little boy.

Watching my husband’s daily interaction with Little Lewie could really be a unique character study. Like most fathers, he enjoys tickling, making funny faces, belching, and even releasing the occasional fart to entertain our little squirt. Because my husband loves music, he also sings, dances, and plays the drums and guitar for him. (He has dreams of creating a father-son band that goes on tour together, probably as soon as Little Lewie’s third birthday. “Our son’s going to be a child prodigy,” my husband announces each time Little Lewie tries to strum the guitar using his little rake like motion.) If Little Lewie isn’t interested in playing an instrument when he’s older, he might, instead, be interested in joining the circus as his dad also performs a juggling act for him on a nightly basis with his three colored fish. Really, there’s no telling what special talent my husband is going to execute next as he is the grandmaster of all useless, annoying, and bizarre tricks. Perhaps the yoyo or even the ventriloquist puppet will be the next to come out.

There’s no question that my husband has become more sentimental since Little Lewie’s birth. Unlike when it was just the two of us, Big Lewie now comes home directly after work, ditches his friends’ phone calls and invites, and even, occasionally, cancels band practice. It’s been amazing to watch this transition as my husband has now, gulp, matured. He loves our little guy and will go great lengths to prove it. The other day I walked into the bathroom to see that my husband was sitting on the toilet, peeing. “What are you doing?” I asked, unsure if I really wanted to know the answer.

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m peeing sitting down.”


“I know I pee loud standing up, so I’m peeing like this. I don’t want to wake the baby.”

“Oh,” I answered and gently closed the door.

Has my husband turned into a sap? Yes, but I’ll admit that I do love it. Happy Father’s Day to my one and only very special cornball husband!

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