I always knew that Josh was going to be the bestest, most funnest daddy ever. He has a natural way of relating to children that is beyond me. I love kids in that high-pitched and shrieky, "omghowcuteawittlebittlebaby!" way that terrifies all children the world 'round. (Dash has tempered my awkwardness a wee bit in that I can now sort of relate to kids who are exactly Dash's age and gender for about 3 minutes before they get bored of watching me put bowls on my head.) But Josh has skills. He can have actual conversations with four-year-olds we meet at the pool. He spent like 2 hours with Jamie's nieces at the beach teaching them to body surf. Jamie reported that on the car ride home the girls rated Josh 105 and 110 out of a possible 100 points. There are more examples.
But I knew all that already. What I didn't know was how Josh would transform into a Father--you know, disciplinarian, guide, Parent. I'll admit that I worried a wee bit when, before we had Dash, I would arrive home from the market to be told that he couldn't help unload groceries as he was in the middle of playing a baseball video game over the Internet with someone and couldn't leave them hanging (I swear this is true). Or when I would leave a white sock on our charcoal couch just to see how many days would pass before he put it away (I finally gave up three days later). But the birth of Dash was the occasion to which Josh would rise.
He gets up with the baby exactly the same number of times as me. He has (and don't tell him this, please) changed probably more poopy diapers than I have. He has done as many loads of laundry and given nearly all the baths. He takes seriously his job of modeling a good and fair and honest man for his son.
He is an admirable and steady father with a heart that is full of wild, barmy laughing and baby-love, but also an understanding of his duty (heh, doody) and responsibility to raise up a man.
It is my honor to be chosen to parent this child with him.
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