Old habits die hard

Jul 18, 2013

       picture circa 2006

It never fails that when the husband leaves I always revert to the first time we had to say goodbye. It was a much simpler time, I was a freshman in college, he had only been in the Army for about a year. There were no kids to comfort, there were no power of attorneys to take care of, there was far less sleepless nights. After 7 years and countless times apart you would figure you would get used to it. I am all too familiar with the leaving part, and I am pretty good at taking care of things while he is away. But I am not used to the pit in my stomach that appears days before he leaves, or the lump in my throat before we say "see ya later...be safe". I know that I am lucky enough to not be dealing with a deployment right now, if I never have to do it again I will be incredibly thankful. I have too many friends going through that, so I am not complaining about the short time he will be gone. But any time apart is hard, especially when you add kids into the mix. I don't always know how to answer their questions, the only thing that will comfort them is Dad. Then there is the worrying part, the not knowing what is going on. I mean in the age of technology can a wife get a text saying her husband landed his jump safely? That is all I need. Then I can just worry about my own paranoia of being in the house alone. I don't know if all wives go through this, but it has become routine for me. When the man of the house goes to play G.I. Joe I make a battle plan of my own. I make sure I barricade the doors that we do not use, you know just put bikes in front of them or some other noisy toy. Then I make sure I have a well stocked arsenal, and spread my weapons of choice around the house so I cannot be caught empty handed. Speaking of which...I need bear spray! I do not sleep well when he is gone, I wake up to every sound this house makes. Maybe its OCD, extreme paranoia, the Italian in me. I don't know, but I have done this song and dance one too many times to stop now. Ace asked me "mama why is there a bucket of legos over there?" Well son, have you ever stepped on a lego at 2am? I would rather give myself 100 paper cuts! Where is this post going...point is the husband is gone, I miss him, I will probably go crazy, the end.

0 comments:

Post a Comment

 

© Pardon My French All rights reserved . Design by Blog Milk Powered by Blogger