Peek-a

Boo.

We're home. Well, back in our temporary space, squeezed between laundry baskets and heaps of clothing, boxed in the dark wooden walls of my childhood bedroom.

After our couple of weeks at the hotel, The Boss had a terrible time trying to sleep in his own crib, in a room apart from my husband and I.

And, as though he needed to do anything more to prove his worthiness for the title of Father of the Year, my sweet husband, (despite having to be up for work at 6:30 this morning,) did as he always does when it's two in the morning and our family is awake - he peeled back the covers and comforted our son, over and over...and over again. Until it was nearly three.

While I handled the early morning hours with much flopping of pillows and hissing and heavy, angry sighs - my husband did what we he does in the times when I fail, he soothed our son.

He does this every time either of us cries in the night. He's a comforter, like no other. A husband and father, yes. But moreso, at the risk of sounding like I'm penning a card for Hallmark, he's a friend.

A friend who knows that I don't shine at 2 in the morning; but rather than forcing me to do what could be considered to be "my job" - he simply, without question, does what he needs to do to take care of his family.

And I don't even have a Father's day card for him yet.