The Great Father
Someone told me that if you worry about being a bad parent, then you won't be, because real-life "bad" parents probably aren't worrying about how they're doing.
Well now that seems to make sense!
But sometimes I worry, and sometimes Lloyd worries, but about Lloyd I'm not worried....
The night I knew for certain I need not worry about his parenting skills was a disaster.
In the course of that evening everything seemed to be going wrong.
I was having a bad case of the flu/cough/cold that wouldn't let up and I was on the couch, listless and immobilized. Lloyd cooked my dinner and brought it to me, all the while comforting me as I lay dying in front of the T.V.
And just as Lloyd sat down beside me to rest after a long day's work and slaving over my hot plate, Bobby's sensitive stomache gave way and he vomited all over the carpet.
He huffed about Bobby's accident, all while Bob Big Boy trotted away to fill his stomach back up despite its sensitivites. (There's a reason we call him "Big Boy"- he really doesn't know when to stop eating)
After cleaning up Bobcat's intestinal kibble, he lunged back onto the couch in an attempt to get in some relaxation time before the night ended.
His respite was short-lived, as within minutes Penny had one of her "accidents" on the carpet not far from where he had just cleaned up Bobby's leftovers.
Up he went to clean up his old-girl's incontinent disaster, fuming under his breath in British mumbo-jumbo that was similar to the language he uses when his football team is losing. But he didn't scold her. A least not in any convincing way. It was more of an annoyed inquisition "Penny, I just took you outside- why didn't you go outside?..."
Minutes later, he was back beside me on the plump couch, looking worn-out.
And to test his energy, it wasn't long before we heard Trouble downstairs, painfully wheezing. He was having one of his asthma attacks that strike in early spring each year.
Lloyd took a moment, drew a long breath, and proceeded down the stairs to comfort our Tiny Tim and give him a steroid pill (which has to be carefully wrapped in cheese). He watched as Trouble carefully toyed with the steroid-filled cheese ball. Some days Trouble will eat it without fuss, and other days we have to carefully watch that he doesn't cleverly eat the cheese around the pill and spit out the powdery antecdote.
This night, of course, Lloyd had to wait and watch.... and watch and wait... and re-wrap the tiny white pill to ensure that Trouble would be able to breathe through the night.
On this long night, up and down the stairs he went to make the chaotic house less chaotic and leave me to watch T.V. as I nursed myself back to health.
I am not sure I would exactly compare my pets to our baby...
But to see my wonderful husband take such great care of me and our animals when we are at our most vulnerable, sickest and in need of a good petting, it warms my heart to know that he will always take care of his family first. He will cook us dinner when we are sick, he will clean up vomit and 'accidents' (not that he'll enjoy it very much), and he'll be sure to put our medicine in clever wrapping to make it tolerable.
Of all the worries I might carry, one comfort I have-
Lloyd will be a great father.
Well now that seems to make sense!
But sometimes I worry, and sometimes Lloyd worries, but about Lloyd I'm not worried....
The night I knew for certain I need not worry about his parenting skills was a disaster.
In the course of that evening everything seemed to be going wrong.
I was having a bad case of the flu/cough/cold that wouldn't let up and I was on the couch, listless and immobilized. Lloyd cooked my dinner and brought it to me, all the while comforting me as I lay dying in front of the T.V.
And just as Lloyd sat down beside me to rest after a long day's work and slaving over my hot plate, Bobby's sensitive stomache gave way and he vomited all over the carpet.
He huffed about Bobby's accident, all while Bob Big Boy trotted away to fill his stomach back up despite its sensitivites. (There's a reason we call him "Big Boy"- he really doesn't know when to stop eating)
After cleaning up Bobcat's intestinal kibble, he lunged back onto the couch in an attempt to get in some relaxation time before the night ended.
His respite was short-lived, as within minutes Penny had one of her "accidents" on the carpet not far from where he had just cleaned up Bobby's leftovers.
Up he went to clean up his old-girl's incontinent disaster, fuming under his breath in British mumbo-jumbo that was similar to the language he uses when his football team is losing. But he didn't scold her. A least not in any convincing way. It was more of an annoyed inquisition "Penny, I just took you outside- why didn't you go outside?..."
Minutes later, he was back beside me on the plump couch, looking worn-out.
And to test his energy, it wasn't long before we heard Trouble downstairs, painfully wheezing. He was having one of his asthma attacks that strike in early spring each year.
Lloyd took a moment, drew a long breath, and proceeded down the stairs to comfort our Tiny Tim and give him a steroid pill (which has to be carefully wrapped in cheese). He watched as Trouble carefully toyed with the steroid-filled cheese ball. Some days Trouble will eat it without fuss, and other days we have to carefully watch that he doesn't cleverly eat the cheese around the pill and spit out the powdery antecdote.
This night, of course, Lloyd had to wait and watch.... and watch and wait... and re-wrap the tiny white pill to ensure that Trouble would be able to breathe through the night.
On this long night, up and down the stairs he went to make the chaotic house less chaotic and leave me to watch T.V. as I nursed myself back to health.
I am not sure I would exactly compare my pets to our baby...
But to see my wonderful husband take such great care of me and our animals when we are at our most vulnerable, sickest and in need of a good petting, it warms my heart to know that he will always take care of his family first. He will cook us dinner when we are sick, he will clean up vomit and 'accidents' (not that he'll enjoy it very much), and he'll be sure to put our medicine in clever wrapping to make it tolerable.
Of all the worries I might carry, one comfort I have-
Lloyd will be a great father.
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