SuperDad
I married Superman.
But John doesn’t look like that, you say?
That may be true, but I’m pretty sure it’s only because Superman figured out that Clark Kent wasn’t really a decent secret identity. And that bit about John still being sore sore sore from being an “anteater” is all pretend, too. He’s sneaky, Superman is.
And why, reader, am I sure I married Superman? Let me tell you.
First he changed Devin’s nasty-wasty diaper in the middle of the night, puts him back to bed. That in itself, heroic, and I slept right through it. John tucked him in upstairs, and then Devin came down again – We didn’t hear him until he was throwing up next to our bed. YUCK. Being the fantastic mother I am, I rolled off the towel I sleep on (in case baby spits up in the night all over me… or in case baby doesn’t wake up and I end up sleeping in a small pond of milk… it never hurts to be prepared), handed said towel to John, and rolled back over. 
John cleans it off the boy, off the floor, off the stuff on the floor, and then takes Devin back upstairs to bed for the second time.
THEN, an hour or so later, John’s paternal radar informs him Devin is ready to puke again, and John found himself climbing the stairs yet again… Where he found that Devin did indeed throw up all over his bedding upstairs. Nice. So he changes the sheets, pillows, etc, and helps him get back to sleep. Thankfully, the rest of the night passes uneventfully.
Me, I’d have taken the icky jammies off the kid and pulled him in bed with us when he came down the second time. And then we would’ve had barf in our bed later… Yuck.
So you see, I married Superman.
Wow, SuperDad indeed! That’s awesome!!!
Isn’t cleaning up barf the most horrible thing? I think it’s the worst thing about being a parent so far!
NICE. Very nice.
I’m thinking, for the very first time in my life, that it just might be possible that I MAY have married the wrong Smith brother. OK, maybe not, but you got a good one there!