Being Dad

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I feel for tattoodaddy.
He has told me a few times things along the lines of – they don’t even like me, they don’t listen to me, they hate me.
It’s got to be hard to be a dad.
Obviously being any parent is hard. And I understand in many a house it is the reverse of ours and the mother finds herself weeping, feeling like she doesn’t even know when her four year old actually became this child in front of her.

Lola gets up at about 7:30am. 15 minutes before we leave to drop tattoodaddy at work.
She often falls asleep in the car on the way to pick him up at 5:30pm and stays asleep. He doesn’t get to spend a lot of time with her.

Lately his time with her has become the midnight (or thereabouts) visit into our bedroom when she wakes to go the toilet and such.
They cuddle, they laugh. They talk in soft voices that walk in the edge of sleep, not wanting to shatter the quiet of the time they have together. She touches his face and curls against him. It warms my heart.
Occasionally she is too tired and won’t snuggle, needs sleep but doesn’t want it because she is over tired. He always brings her back to happy in these middle of the night moments.
That’s what that photo is. Him showing her just how ridiculous she looks by looking ridiculous too. Because who isn’t going to laugh at their dada in his Undies with his bum in the air.

This is one of the things that makes me love him so dearly. He – a lot of the time feeling like they don’t like him, will do anything to see them happy.

It must be hard to be a dad. One must take what he can get – and I’m glad of every second of it.
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