Being a dad to two young kids, currently ages 2 & 3, is the hardest thing I (we’ve) ever done—and without question, the best. There are moments when the noise, the needs, the sheer volume of energy in our home is overwhelming. But underneath is this steady, undeniable truth: this is the most meaningful work I’ll ever do.
There’s no manual for this, but I know that love lives in the daily, often invisible work: the diaper changes, the bedtime stories, the middle-of-the-night wakeups, the water cups that need ice, the tiny beds that need their specific stuffed animals. The mornings I make pancakes even though I’m exhausted. The evenings I rush home, just to sit on the floor after a long day and build Lego towers.
As I reflect this Father’s Day, so much of fatherhood for me has been about showing up differently—more present, more emotionally available, more patient. I’m not afraid to admit I’ve had to unlearn a lot. I read, I ask questions, I observe. Being a dad has required more of me than anything else ever has. It’s stretched me, softened me, strengthened me. And still, I wouldn’t trade this for anything. I can’t imagine life any other way. This—this is everything.
