we've had my papa here with us these last few days, and what a sweet, sweet time it's been. a time for autumn walks in central park and heaping bowls of pasta, west village coffeehouse hopping and big breakfasts and sunday at home. we tossed open the windows and we checked every box on our to-do-around-the-apartment list and we gathered 'round our farm table for chicken pot pie and mashed potatoes.
my papa's the most tender father. i see it manifest across every tide of my life, reaching far beyond the arms of my childhood. when i was first starting out and didn't have money for even the smallest luxuries, it was a coveted bottle of perfume delivered to my doorstep for no reason. when i was planning my wedding, it was cheerful interest in the sorts of details a mother might care about. in this season, it's seeing about with his own eyes our new apartment, clothes we've gathered, where the crib will go, the blooming belly he hears about in daily phone calls. it's working with his hands on our home.
he traveled a thousand miles to help his baby ready for her baby. it's just the sort of father he is.