*Editor’s note: I’m the animal and the husband referred to in the title.

Of all the things I forget while being a father, there is one that bothers me the most.

No, it isn’t following through on promises (letting the toddler drive), or not joking about ridiculous things (giving the toddler a face tattoo); nor is it insensitivity towards others (yelling, gregariously, about poop in Costco).

The one thing that I forget about is that I’m not just a father, I’m also a husband. A partner. A half to a full.

There is a lot of personal shit I’ve been going through in the past year that I haven’t dealt with throughout my entire life. My wife is the one person who sees all of it and is still there. Even though, at times, I’ve tried to push her away.

I don’t need a father’s day or a mother’s day to remind me anymore. I no longer need to hit bottom as a reminder, because she’s pulled me off of it so often.

We are lucky to find our better halves. This obvious proclamation is akin to a sappy poem written by an elderly drunken genius on the side of a mountain that is slowly consuming itself, but way less erotic.

What?

Example: My daughter smiled at me for the first time a few weeks ago. I was overcome.

Elizabeth reminded me that it takes longer for the male in the parental unit to intimately bond with the child for obvious physical and biological reasons (gestation/birth).

I loved my daughter when she was born, but now I know why. The smile. Those eyes. Anyway.

My partner translated that moment for me. I felt it, but she taught me it.

And now here I am trying to do this personal wealth justice
and she is in the next room…

Good night everyone.