The power of dads

I’m so proud to be married to a ‘Daddy’ like the one in this post. We recently took an amazing trip to Fiji that required first flying to L.A., but we got Zone C on our sold out Southwest Flight on Christmas Eve  — so there would be no sitting together. My husband ended up in a row with a boy who was about 2. I sat in the row behind him. The boy squirmed and made noise, and hubs didn’t mind. But I knew he’d be fine with that. Then the real test came: the mom opened a pumped bottle of breast milk, and the milk sprayed all over my guy. (Yes, a stranger’s breast milk.) He just smiled and quietly wiped it off. She apologized profusely and reached for a cloth to help him clean up, but to get it she had to ask him to hold the toddler — who, it turns out, had already leaked through his diaper, leaving my husband with a wet lap, as well. (More bodily fluids from strangers — and all of this during the first few minutes of what would be more than 24 hours of traveling. He wouldn’t have a chance to shower or change clothes for a long, long time.) I watched it all go down through a crack between the seats — with amusement, horror and pride. Finally the little boy started to nod off, but it soon became clear to everyone that the kid would only stay asleep if he held on to my husband’s finger. And so that’s what he did — all the way from Baltimore to L.A. Love that man!