Your daddy was a rock star.

Dear Z,

In the history of all the asinine things I've ever thought and said, one takes the cake. In my early 20s, I declared that I would like to have kids but I didn't really want a husband. I didn't glamorize single motherhood so much as doubt my desire for, and ability to sustain, a life-long marriage. But I had wanted to be a mother for as long as I could remember so I wasn't going to let my anger at the patriarchy (aka. my, cliched but true, fear of commitment) keep me from one day having a child or two. With a great group of friends and my parents to support me, I could certainly handle children without a doofus husband lurking around, right?

News flash --- I knew NOTHING.

It is ridiculous that I even thought those things. It is impossible to imagine doing this without him, because your Daddy is the person who keeps this whole thing running. He's the one who not only planted the seed (heh heh) but also tends to us both with the love and care that feel as essential as soil and water and air. Someday, when you are much older, I will tell you about the countless times he has talked me off the proverbial ledge. Perhaps his greatest, most loving fatherly gift to you is the way he loves and supports me.

And- wow!- how he loves you. What won't you remember when you are old enough to read this? He sings you silly, made up songs, where rhyming "girl" and "squirrel" is a common theme. When you were an infant, he used to use you to play air guitar, strumming your belly through your tight swaddle, making you giggle. He makes endless loops around the backyard with you, pushing your trike, telling you about the trees and grass and sky. This rational, practical, scientific man has wept with joy countless times since your birth just because he loves you.

"Dada" was your first word. People say that's because it's easier to say than "Mama" but I see the way you look at him when he walks into the room. Alas, I know the truth: I am the wallpaper (with boobs), Daddy is the rock star. You need me, but you adore him.

You look like him. You have his eyes, a strong starburst of brown in the center of a blue-green sea. I love watching your eyes twinkle when you smile and laugh, because every time you do, I see a reflection, a refraction, of him and I love you both all the more.

Love,

Your Clueless But Hopeful Mama

(ps. Happy Father's Day.)