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I wanted to do something special for Paul’s first Father’s Day.

But since at this point all we have are three betas indicating there should be a baby growing in there, I’m just not mentally in a place yet where I feel confident enough to buy anything that will leave us with a tangible reminder of what could have been, should this not work out. I know that this probably isn’t the right attitude to have and that I need to be strong and hopeful for the little one growing inside of me – and most of the time I am, but the idea of having any baby stuff in the house right now just feels like I’m taking the future for granted. Maybe once we see the heartbeat this will change, but our first ultrasound is still over a week away.

So instead, I’m writing. Writing about this amazing man that is my husband, and who has now become the father of my child (and with any luck, children). Hopefully next year we will be celebrating this day with a wriggly, chubby-cheeked four-month old in our arms.

While I have tons of doubts about what kind of mother I’ll be, there is no question in my mind that Paul will be an incredible father. I know this because of the way he has loved and taken care of me through some of the most difficult times in my life. I know this because being with him has made me want to be a better person, a person that deserves to be with someone so strong and so good inside.

A long time ago, not long after we first started dating, he told me that he knew he loved me because he woke up every morning and the first thing he felt was lucky. I can honestly say that eight years later (exactly eight years tomorrow actually), I wake up every single morning and am simply amazed that this man chose to love me. Every morning before I get out of bed, I kiss him on the forehead and think about the fact that I am the luckiest woman alive to have him by my side.

I didn’t know this kind of love could exist before I met Paul.

Throughout the struggle towards pregnancy, the thing that hurt the most was the thought that I might never be able to carry the child that would be a little tiny reflection of this man who deserved more than anyone else I know to have his wonderfulness passed on. It wasn’t the loss of my own genetics that hurt, it was the potential loss of his.

It hurt me to know that after all he had given to me, everything he had done to take care of me and nurture me, my body could deny him something I knew he wanted very badly, a biological child.

(This isn’t to say that he isn’t also equally excited at the idea of children who come to us through adoption some day, because he has made it absolutely clear that he is, but as I’ve written before, I think it’s totally normal to want both.)

I could give you a laundry list of all the ways I know Paul will be a great dad, from how he never complains about waking up at 4:30am to drop me off at work to how he willingly wipes and washes my obese cat’s poopy behind, but I think (hope) there will be plenty of time in the future to write about what a wonderful father he is to our baby. For today, I’ll just say that I’m so thankful for the opportunity to make him a dad.