Thirty-three years ago on this very day, a pretty spectacular guy was born.
And I was lucky enough to stumble into his path roughly 23 years later.
And I haven’t stopped falling for him since.
Because with every option open to him on this day, he chooses to make gargantuan Play Doh creations with his daughters. Let his baby boy crawl all over him. Return books to the library, run errands necessary to the household, and maybe- just maybe- watch a show or two (which he probably won’t end up choosing). If not for the festive hats and presents and meals we’re shoving at him all day, he’d probably pay some bills or paint the house.
“Wear this hat, Dad!”
“…Okay!”
So here’s to the guy who ALWAYS puts his wife and babies and friends and family first- and asks nothing more than to go to bed each night feeling like he’s done his job. A really good job. And guess what? He has. He does. He absolutely, positively, always will.
That’s just who P.J. is.
And he just keeps getting better.
(Happy birthday, babe. 33 looks so good on you.)
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