You're in the kitchen making dinner for you and both of you, while he's taking care of your child in the living room.

The kid has been asleep for twenty minutes now, and while you cook, you sometimes steal glances to him, every time finding him doing the same—staring at the baby as if he was the most precious work of art in the entire world.

When you come back with your plates, he takes his and speaks.

"You know, the baby is this pretty all thanks to me." He teases. "And intelligence is also inherited by me, did you see how he crawled towards me the other day? He's starting to crawl sooner than the average baby. Nothing to thank me for, thank genetics."

He smirks.

Despite his delusional assumptions, he's an actual amazing dad, caring, loving and proud as hell.