For Better or For Worse

Dear World,

He is the better parent. Honest. I'm not trying to spit shine his shoes.

I see my faults often. I don't think anyone else sees them but me (well, they don't say anything).

He is the player. The go-getter. The drive 7 hours by himself, with both boys, to another state doer. He is the one that suggests to sign them up for #allthethings. He is the one they miss the most at the end of the day.

I try and I question. I love my children. Which makes me an okay parent. He does and he is. Which makes him a great parent.

I think 26 would've been a better age. That is when we had Mr. Sunshine. Our finances are linked to that year. We were on our feet. Both of us were working. Mr. 12 (6 at the time) was in school all day.

I didn't factor kids into the picture. I didn't want to have them in the sense I didn't plan on having kids in my teenage mind. It was filled with, honestly, no ideas. No goals. Just a bit of indifference and a lot of questions.

Then we were stupid. (Seriously, there isn't another word to put here.) 

I was too young. But I was only 19. Not really that young. He was younger. Yet, older.

And I slipped. And he pulled me out of the water, no matter how many times I screamed at him to leave me alone. Yet, he stayed. Often, on the other side of a door.

He is the better parent. He is the better person. I have no idea why. Of our two childhood's, he had the worst one. He didn't have many role models. He just knew what he wanted. He'd become a parent again if I said yes. Many times over.