Thirteen more months down the road, and I was happily organizing my daughter’s nursery, six months pregnant, when I heard my husband come home. I called for him to come look at how fantastic her closet looked, and as he turned the corner into her room, his face was screaming that old cliche, military-style. Seriously?! Yes, there was panic and fear, plus the same two questions as before, and just a smidge of resentment. This was like being broken up with on your birthday, or Valentine’s Day-it shouldn’t be allowed.
I, personally, handled this separation with much less dignity and not near as in stride as the others. I complained to my family, I was in a perpetual grumpy mood, and simply sat in a corner, sucking on the lemons life had handed to me, instead of making lemonade. We made it through, though, with me kicking and screaming every step of the way.
Fortunately, on the day our daughter was born (1:05 p.m. U.S. time, 9:05 p.m. Iraq time), my husband also called me with amazing news: he had been chosen for a special duty that would put us only two hours from family (and the new grandparents!), and he would be non-deployable for the entire length of his four-year controlled tour. Can you say best day ever?!
We had been given a free pass; for four years, he would no longer have to sit me down, and give me the, “We need to talk,” speech. He would see birthdays, holidays, anniversaries, and all of our brand new baby’s milestones.
As we sit halfway through this controlled tour, with only two years left, it has certainly been weird having him home for such a long length of time. I know, when we arrive at his next duty station, the possibility of having “the talk,” is extremely high.
Let’s just hope I handle it better than last time.
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