It's only fair that after I write a mature and all-growed-up post about understanding my truly good fortune in this extremely difficult world we live in my husband received word that he must indeed do 45 days with the Guard unit in Delaware.
Yes. I know it's not 90 days. And I know it's not a year deployment.
But it still sucks.
To be clear, I'm not moving up there. I ordered moving announcements for God sakes. I'M NOT MOVING.
After a few days of going it on my own again, it's not as bad as I thought it would be. The weather has been gorgeous so we've been able to enjoy our deck and our yard and the most genius invention ever made for two children under 3: THE WATER AND SAND TABLE.
And I'm actually getting things done -- scheduling midwife and pediatrician appointments, interviewing doulas, getting preschool applications in, drilling and screwing in a freaking lion proof baby gate. Now I'm most certainly not scrubbing baseboards and my hands have yet to touch the vacuum, but the house is picked up at night. The kids aren't reciting Shakespeare yet, but Drew is waving "hi" and "bye" to all passers by, including stray dogs and the UPS man.
And I'm only staying up to midnight so I can do that thing called "work." Technically, if I can keep my brain in Central Time Zone, that's only 11pm! Not bad at all.
Thankfully, the Messiah has returned -- at least to my home in the form of a lovely older Brazilian woman who is dying to babysit. Alternating visits from Michael Vartan and Aidan Shaw (Sex and the City), in the form of a large pink vibrating cone, are set to begin early next week. And hello, Grey's Anatomy!
Truth be told, it will be nice to have an extra excuse to visit my friends and my mom. And if I'm desperate for blog fodder and need a good reality check, the in-laws. And being pregnant in Philly, ala water ice, cheese steaks, and pizza, isn't so bad.
But I do wish we could all be together again. That he could be with me at the ultrasound when we find out who has been craving salads and fruit. And go shopping for furniture. And choose paint. And pick out porch chairs.
We've got a lot of shit to settle. Not just with this house, but with our relationship. Admittedly, the 15-minute a night phone conversations don't hurt what has been a rocky four months. But every time I see him, it's like we're starting over. We're treading water.
We're not getting anywhere.
But it is what it is. Now off to gaze into the night sky at the beautiful bright stars.