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Sometimes parenting sucks, but you are perfect for this gig.

When people describe parenthood to young couples with heart emoji eyes, they discuss the beauty of childbirth and the joys of baby’s first accomplishments.

They tend to leave out the parts about sleepless (and sexless) nights, chaffing nipples from breastfeeding, and the fact that you forget how to even talk to other adults because you will spend the next five-to-seven years either pregnant or raising kids who constantly need something, broke something or spilled something, or who you will have to chase to keep from impending doom.

Those are the facts, my friends.

But you, my hero husband. You weren’t phased by the sleeplessness since you’d basically been training for that all through college. The gross stuff like spit-up and poopy diapers were no match for you, since we met caring for individuals with disabilities who needed full-time assistance. The insanity of chasing around little teeny time bombs just became the newest part of your cardio routine.

You are my hero.

When my body became a contorted bundle of skin and stretch marks and flaps of things that would never return to their originally-intended positions, you smiled and told me I look beautiful. You never balked at the many times (read: almost always) that my body unintentionally chose sleep over intimacy because I had spent my day nursing, cleaning bottle parts, or running around trying to rescue our fearless two-year-old from sharp objects or tall things from which she would be determined to fly.

You loved me anyway.

See, no one told us that parenthood, for us, would include a laundry list of diagnoses, medications, therapists, specialists, doctors, and strategies to attempt to provide every opportunity for our boy to succeed. We didn’t know that when we chose to have babies.

But you haven’t missed a step.

There have been sleepless nights, tear-filled nights, and nights where we argued so I spent all of my energy attempting to scoot my large frame onto the farthest corner of our bed from you to prove a point as you snoozed peacefully. (Seriously, how do you do that!?).

But we always recover.

You are slow to judge, quick to generosity, and the absolute dream dad for any kid who loves adventure. You teach our children. You go on epic adventures with them, and they love you for it.

You are brilliant, creative, thoughtful, and selfless. You are the support system I never knew I needed. You do dishes and laundry—dishes and laundry.

For those and countless other reasons, I am grateful for you daily and I am thankful God brought us together to love our kids fiercely, to serve others selflessly, and to be a mighty force for a community of folks raising their extreme children.

I love you. All the time. Every day.

You may also like: 

To My Hard-Working Husband, I See You

My Dear Daughters, This Is How You Should Be Treated—Love, Dad

Dear Husband, I Am So Grateful For You

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Brynn Burger

Mental health advocate, extreme parent, lover of all things outdoors, and sometimes a shell of my former self. Parenting a child with multiple behavior disabilities has become both my prison and my passion. I write so I can breathe. I believe that God called me to share, with violent vulnerability and fluent sarcasm, our testimony to throw a lifeline to other mamas who feel desperate to know they aren't alone. I laugh with my mouth wide open, drink more cream than coffee, and know in my spirit that queso is from the Lord himself. Welcome!

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