If you already have kids, then you know this. But, if you’re still pre-kids, watching a Dad playing with his kids is simply cute. It may cause you to say, “Aww,” but then you move on with your coupe car, clean house, child-free life.
But, for those of us with kids. It’s more than an “aww.” Most child-free women may stop in their tracks to see a man with a six pack working out in the gym, but, us moms, get more gratification out of watching our six pack-less man play tee ball with the kids outside.
When he’s cuddling on the couch with the baby who’s sucking her thumb and simultaneously smiling at him- our ovaries go into overdrive.
Hello, Channing Tatum! I didn’t know we were married! Sure, my husband doesn’t look anything like Channing, but you can’t tell my mom brain that.
There’s nothing sweeter than seeing a big tough guy cuddle their toddler who has a boo-boo.
Or to have a flashback from the time when your husband didn’t think he wanted kids, as he’s laughing hysterically because the 2 year old calls Minions, “onions.”
Oh, sure. He didn’t want kids. But, he’d be lost without them now.
Meanwhile, as I watch him play peek-a-boo, I’m thankful for that tubal that I got last year, as my ovaries have now temporarily convinced me to go Duggar.
I often find myself off to the side, watching the kids run to him from every direction, ecstatic to have daddy home ALL DAY.
I roll my eyes at the man who is so frugal that he once turned our water heater down a few degrees to save money (he quickly turned it back up after I threatened to do it myself), who now throws money on toys and books and experiences for our kids, knowing just how lucky I am to have such a good dad for my kids.
We no longer own that truck that my husband loved because we couldn’t fit all three kids in it comfortably and it was a pain cramming kids in the back of a 2 door truck. When we finally got around to upgrading a year later, the entire back seat of that 4 door truck was lined with car seats and we were listening to the Disney station on our first road trip.
Dads are hot.
But, not the same kind of hot that my teenage self would’ve drooled over.
There’s a whole new “hotness” that comes with motherhood that doesn’t have a damn thing to do with physical attributes.
“Hot” has taken on a whole new meaning.
“Hot” is the man who works 47 days straight so that we can (finally) get ahead.
“Hot” is the dad who gets up and plays with the baby in the middle of the night.
“Hot” is the guy who is rough and tough, but then takes on a gentleness that you’ve never seen when he’s playing with his children.
“Hot” is the man who goes to work everyday, without complaining, so that he can provide for his kids.
“Hot” is the guy that changes diapers and knows all the words to Moana and knows the precise way to rock the baby to sleep (you have to bounce up and down, while simultaneously swaying side to side).
Dads are hot.
Someone tell these ovaries to calm down.
Repeat after me: I will not go Duggar. I will not go Duggar. I will not go Duggar.
Happy Father’s Day!