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Our baby, our Tyra

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Much like your mom, I can’t seem to find the correct words to describe everything I’m feeling.

You came into the world determined, with the worst possible timing. Clearly a Johansson, if I ever saw one. I guess it’s partly our fault, we branded you with the name we chose for you, our little strong and courageous goddess of battle.

I spent every single second by your mom during labor, freaking out, feeling useless but in awe of the strength Nixie displayed. Okay, maybe I wasn’t entirely useless, I freely gave up my hands for her to crush whenever a contraction hit her, and I took every single one of her curses at me with pride. I mean, it was partly my fault, right? She wasn’t wrong. And it was funny to hear her swear like a sailor, because she never does.

I learned you would be a girl late into your mom’s pregnancy, so I couldn’t really let it sink in. All of that is happening right now and, just so you know, it’ll be me taking you to Taylor Swift concerts and having Miley Cyrus karaoke sessions when I drive you to and from school. You can choose the artists, this was merely an example.

So, yeah, I guess the term girl-dad suits me pretty well.

Now, to my incredible wife: first and foremost, I love you. I admire you. I’m in complete awe of you. Even at the shittiests of times, you didn’t throw in the towel and gave me the time I needed to realize that, doing so, would devoid my life of meaning. You gave me everything and, for that, I will forever be in your debt. Oh, and by the way, my intention is for Tyra to be an older sister, so maybe we should talk about that in a few months.

I love you both, immensely so.

If anyone needs me, no you don’t. We’re very busy here with our naps.