Anna Grams: Winding Down

I signed up for a bajillion week-by-week pregnancy emails this time around. I think I did it subconsciously to have a steady stream of expert advice, since I rely so much on my husband’s problem solving skills when I’m whiny and cranky. Today’s heading, “Introducing…Your Beautiful New Bustline!”

I excitedly opened the email hoping to find it in there, cause it’s certainly not where I’m sitting and reading emails from. Reminds me of the time my sister went in a frenzy after losing her keys, then in a last ditch effort Googled, “Where’s my keys.” Neither time did the internet come through.

Good thing the Old Man will be home next week!

Which brings me to sharing all the reasons why I can’t wait for the deployment to be over… Forgive me if all that’s on the brain is the deployment coming to a close, but if you’re a military spouse, you’ll definitely understand. If not, reading this may want to encourage you to join the Obama Presidential Campaign initiative “Joining Forces,” and volunteer to help an extremely grateful, but likely reluctant to ask, military family.

I’d like to see my husband’s face every day instead of once every 3 months or longer.

I’m definitely out of energy in worrying about an entire nation of terrorists who want my husband and his friends injured. Or dead. And shooting at him very frequently. Every day.

I’m excited to make one of the many new recipes I’ve cooked for him, and for him to no longer live on prepackaged Meals Ready to Eat and cans of Ravoli.

Our budget is maxed out on extra babysitting and child care expenses. Or shipping postage. Or things like socks and undies and daily toiletries that you have to buy every two weeks to support someone overseas who has limited access to daily necessities and living in extreme conditions and temperatures and is required to wear literally over 100 pounds of gear almost daily. (Deep breath.)

It’s much more fun to spend holidays like Easter or Father’s/Mother’s day as a family.

I’m starting to feel guilty about convincing my daughter that weeding is, “A really great job you’re helping mommy do to help the environment,” and not just mommy hating to weed.

I need someone else to take out the garbage. Because we live on a hill as big as a mountain and I actually have to significantly use my body weight by standing in front of the can and wheel it down slowly instead of just pulling it. Like normal people do.

No.More.Cleaning.Floors. Floors are my enemy like folding laundry is to my sister.

Because instances like flat tires, and wildfire evacuations, and hurricane evacuations, and tornado warnings, and dogs getting loose, and spiders coming in the house, and air conditioner issues, increase ten-fold when there’s only one adult in the house, one toddler, one baby to be, two dogs, a cat and a fish, and a full time job involved.

I’m out of logical, toddler-level answers to give my daughter when she asks, “Where’s daddy?” or “Why isn’t daddy here?” Forty times a day. Every day. For months.

I’d like to not have to buy new finger paint for her to mark her countdown calendar since we ran out of four huge tubes already over the many, many days passed. Which she only about half understands the meaning. (Also like to end the panic that ensues from trusting a two year old to keep the finger paint on the poster boards hanging on her wall, not the wall itself.)

I can’t wait to see if she’s going to be super excited like I think she will, or super shy.

Looking forward to hearing her explanation to this cake business she keeps talking about having after daddy gets home. (See previous blog post.)

Want to see the look on the Old Man’s face when he sees our daughter do a burn out in her Barbie Power Wheels jeep in our backyard. Or when he sees I taught her how to ride a tricycle. Or that she scribbles and says she’s writing her name. And can name the president, and where she lives, and sometimes says, “You kiddin’ me?”

Or that her baby babbles have turned into words. And that she’s simply talking now.

And have him feel his daughter kick my belly. Or see how big I’ve grown eight months into my pregnancy…

You see, a lot of life speeds by throughout a deployment. And it’s not always as easy as most people think. Not always stationed on a big base with access to internet, or email, or phones. Talking to each other can be scarce and seeing each other is even more rare. And compound that with the danger?

Yes, I’m ready for it to be over.

Till next week!

* * *

Anna is my beautiful sister, a military wife who lives somewhere in the sticks on the East Coast and is currently eagerly awaiting the return of my brother-in-law from Afghanistan. They’ve got an almost 3 year old and another on the way. We started Anna Grams here to entertain me and the rest of the family while also satisfying her need to blog. Join us every Friday for her stories of military spousalness!

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