Dads are heroes who work behind the scenes

When I got engaged, I wasn't looking at my boyfriend as a potential father of our future children.

Instead, I was evaluating him on a number of critical issues, namely:

1) Did he love me?

2) Did he love me more than he had ever loved anyone before?

3) Did he love me more than life itself?

Once I had ascertained the answers to these critical questions - 1) yes, 2) probably, and 3) What do you think this is, the sequel to Sleepless in Seattle? - I confidently forged ahead with the marriage plans.

But having spent a couple of summers employed as a "Mother's Helper" as a teenager, I was in no way eager to start up production of a group of miniatures who were always hungry, cranky and wanting something. Another cookie. Another push on the swing. Another bedtime story.

I was at a stage where I enjoyed other people's children in short bursts. I liked coming home from my job and deciding what, if anything, I wanted for dinner. If I wanted to leave my laundry until the weekend, it was no big deal. If I wanted to go away for the weekend, I hit the road. If I wanted to stay up or sleep late, I did so, with no consequence. It was a very self-centered lifestyle.

I loved it.

I don't really know what happened. It was like I suddenly woke up one day five years later and thought, "I have way too much free time! I need some dependents who will challenge my problem-solving skills and drain me of my mental and financial resources."

Luckily, around that same time, my husband was thinking about what a nice change it might be to start a number of projects around the house but never be able to complete a single one because of the demands of infants, toddlers.

I remember when we brought our firstborn home from the hospital 19 years ago. I stepped inside with my new fashion accessories of excessive baby gear and sank down on our family room sofa, stunned.

Though I had been gone for just under 24 hours, I felt that I had been shipped to a different planet. A planet with cumbersome car seats and dangling black-and-white mobiles; a land where every outlet had a cover and every cabinet had a lock. I felt overwhelmed by the thought of doing anything but holding our amazing, frighteningly small baby who had come into the world with fewer instructions than your typical VCR.

I could see that my husband felt the same way. This was strangely comforting.