His grandfather was his role-model; he never met his real father.

The only expectations he had of fatherhood were low ones. But you would never know that.

I see his determination in the way he caresses our daughter at night. The way he has always cradled her: lovingly, protectively, warmly.

I see his love for her when he greets her every morning with a smile. His eyes are soft towards her, no matter how rough the night before was, or how many times she woke us up screaming. His bank of forgiveness for her will never run dry.

I see his hopes for her future when he reads her a book at night. The way he sees her for the bright, spirited child she is and cheers her on at every small accomplishment.

I see his determination to give her the best life possible when he picks up an interest in wood work to craft her a homemade night light and swing set. I can see the way he envisions her smiling while he pushes her higher and higher into the air, and tucks her into her crib with her nightlight glowing.

I see his unwillingness to let go when he slow dances with her in the kitchen. She lies in his arms, and he rocks from side to side, slowly spinning. He closes his eyes to keep them from tearing up. I see how difficult it is going to be for him to admit that the guy she brought home really is a good guy, and they might actually be happy together. I see how hard it’s going to be for him to allow her to love any other man besides him.

I see the way he has opened up his heart to her, more than he ever thought possible.

I see his eagerness to raise his son the way his father never did when he rubs my growing belly. There is a bond between them already that can never be broken.

I see his calm spirit in the way he responds in frustrating situations. He is the only one who has always had the ability to calm the babies in my womb with a stroke of his hand.

He’s the father I have always dreamed of for my children, and no one had to show him that; he became a father as soon as he saw her.