Meredith’s Musings: Daddy of Little Girls

article by Meredith McKinnie

This is a love letter to the daddy of my girls. I fell in love with the man, but fell more in love with the father.

Marrying a man who is already a dad was a blessing. It was a preview of the father he would be to our children together. I remember seeing his heart, his big open inclusive heart. He thrived in the family unit, having been raised in a close-knit environment of people who enjoyed each other’s company and took every opportunity to be together. He made me crave a style of family I didn’t realize I wanted. Seeing him be a father awoke the mother in me.

My first pregnancy two years ago was new to me, but not to him. I could curl up in his comfort with the experience. And while I had my own female battles with the process, his familiarity made me feel safe. He knew parenthood, and he knew me. He became my safe space, and I curled up in the safety of a man who had our unborn child’s and my best interest in mind. When I ranted, he let me. When I cried, he held me. He’s the best listener I know, knowing more than a response, I just want to be heard.

A few days after she was born, I would watch him swaddle her, still learning myself. He would hold almost her entire five-pound body in the palm of his hand, angling her up toward his face. He would open his eyes real wide as he spoke, as if giving her the best chance to get lost in them, to find a focal point. He would carry full on conversations about how he was her daddy and she would always have parents who loved her. He would scrunch his nose at her milk-drunk face and comment how she had more hair than he did, how tiny she was, yet strong. He made her feel safe as he had me while I carried her for nine months.

Now, some of my favorite moments are the early-morning hours when he soothes her tired soul. I can hear him talking to her in that same voice through the baby monitor, calming her as he always does me. She has my spirit, and sometimes she fights a diaper change or fresh clothes and he makes jokes, saying over and over, “Daddy always wins. Daddy always wins.” He turns her tears into laughter, turning her upside down, forcing baby chuckles. He puts her to bed most evenings, tucking her into her crib, winding the mobile, and starting Mother Goose for her nightly reading. On the nights when necessary, he may stay in there an hour, resting alongside her until she finally rests her tired eyes. He relishes in mundane tasks like feedings, pulling up a chair to stay eye level and discussing her day as she munches carrots and blueberries and chicken. She mumbles little two-word responses now, nodding her head emphatically as she speaks, so pleased that daddy takes such an interest in her thoughts. Like me, she just wants to be heard.

He looks most comfortable on the couch with all of his girls, human and canine, curled up all over his 6’4 frame. We’re due with another little girl in August, and I can’t wait for her to join this bubble of love that we’ve created. This will be a new experience for both of us, having two children under the age of two. But I’m not scared. I have a partner who was meant to be a daddy of little girls, who brings out the little girl on me. I couldn’t have chosen a better man to show my girls kindness, empathy, and strength. He’s the kind of man I always deserved, but doubted I would find. He’s the kind of daddy all little girls deserve, yet mine got. Later this year we will have more chuckles, more voices, more love to expand our love bubble. As a mother, I rest easy in the knowledge of a home most focused on love, centered on togetherness, bound by strength. He and I have each other, we have the girls, and most importantly, us girls have him.