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February 9, 2014

There was a time when I hated hearing people refer to their partners as their other half. I couldn’t understand why someone would consider being less of a whole or partially incomplete without the companionship of someone else. The whole theory seemed silly and rather ridiculous.

I knew instantly I was in fact part of something far larger than I had ever imagined. This life was much bigger than I gave it credit for and seemed utterly useless without someone by my side to share it with, someone to witness the journey and to help course correct as we went; someone to challenge me, to encourage me, to compete with me in times where unconditional love falls short and to complete me in times where it’s all that will do.

While the last two and a half years have been consumed with various stages and transitions of infancy into toddler phases with previews of the woman our little girl promises to be, it’s never been more apparent just how true the expression being half of a whole proves to be. In this season of our lives, my wife and I are half of a parenting team. While our roles of husband and wife have somewhat taken a backseat to the various animated characters we’ve come to know on a first name basis or the impromptu hopscotch game created to avoid scattered toys in a place where they were just collected, our partnership as players of a team require us to suit up and make our home run. 

Some believe Valentine’s Day is a holiday crafted by card companies and flower shops to boost business and while that may be accurate, I choose to believe it’s only half of the truth.  I choose to believe the holiday is a day designed for parents to step back from the ever-growing list of things to wash, to prevent, to prepare for and to take a shower uninterrupted instead of the typical rushed ritual squeezed into a 24 hour time frame for the sake of sanity disguised as cleanliness. Valentine’s Day is a day reminding Mom and Dad that they are a wife and a husband, halves of a whole that need not be ignored or forgotten.

Although my wife has never been more beautiful to me than when she is wearing pajamas in the floor of my daughter’s room surrounded by a scattered mess of books, dolls and dreams we’re fertilizing into fruition, sometimes I have to make a conscious effort to acknowledge the woman she is instead of just the mother she has become. Sometimes I have to remind myself to be cognizant of the half of this relationship she helps support… after all, I think it's obvious hers is the better half.

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