I was surprised the other day, when someone (actually a few someones) asked me if The Boyfriend was The Kid’s father. On account of how I always refer to him as The Boyfriend (as opposed to what, exactly, I wonder. “The Kid’s Dad”?). I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised. I’m an unmarried mother, and the growing trend these days seems to be for only married mothers to still be with the man that fathered their babies.
I’m still with the man that fathered my baby. Despite the lack of a wedding ring. Despite the fact that we’re not sharing a last name. We have all of the commitment, with none of the formalities.
The Boyfriend is the same man I have been with for nearly four years. He’s the father of my child, and the lucky (or unlucky, depending on how you look at it) man that impregnated me, after two months of dating me. He’s the man that my ovaries fell in love with, and together with my uterus decided that they just had to have this man’s baby.
And despite being absolute polar opposites in personality, temperment, morals, backgrounds and experiences – we reproduced marvellously.
He’s an amazing father. But he was Boyfriend to me, first. Father to my child, second. Always has been. Despite what he might think, I wasn’t with him merely because my ovaries and uterus made a unilateral decision without consulting me. I assume that they consulted my heart, too – because he had that long before our DNA fused.
With his Kid, he is patient. Firm and loving. When my patience seems to have run out, The Boyfriend still has more. The pride he has in his little boy is simply amazing. Discipline comes naturally to him (unlike me – I overreact to everything) and he is determined that his child will be polite and well-mannered no matter what.
This man was meant to be a father. I merely provided him with the means to become. He took to it so naturally, whilst it parenting was something that I consciously had to do. He’s the one with the maternal intution. The one who can tell that The Kid is not feeling well, before any symptoms of illness present. He’s the one who The Kid turns to for comfort, when he’s ill.
This man was meant to be a father.
And most times. I’m really grateful that he was meant to be the father of my child.
I don’t think I could do it without him.