Sunday, May 9, 2010

Thus begins the life of an army wife. . .

About 2 hours ago, I dropped my husband off at his reruiter's office so he could leave for basic. I didn't think it would hurt as much as it did. I felt like I had been ripped into tiny pieces. I tried not to cry on the way home because the kiddos didn't seem upset and I didn't want to upset them, but I couldn't help it. My eyes were like a faucet left slightly on. A constant trickle. I'm not a big crier. I'm usually just numb when I'm upset, but not this time. I never knew separation could hurt so much.

When I was 18, I was engaged to my first high school sweetheart and he left for the Army. When he left, I was sure I was never going to see him again. I couldn't even kiss him goodbye.

This time was so much different. I felt like a big baby. I was trying not to cry in front of my hubby and mostly succeeded. But then I realised all I had given him was a peck on the cheek and called him back to the car to kiss him properly. I'm not sure how well I hid the tears that time.

I feel broken. All I want to do is curl into a ball and cry, but I can't. I have 3 little girls that depend on me and look up to me and I don't feel like I can cry in front of them. And perversely, it seems like that's when I want to cry the most, when I'm in front of my girls.

Evie is so funny though. She had a meltdown when I layed her down for her nap and said "I want my daddy" through her tears. I said "I want your daddy, too" and was just about to start the waterworks again when she said "I want a popcicle" and it just made me laugh. Master of manipulation, that one. I think she's asleep now, which is good because she was exhausted.

Now that Joey's off to basic, I'll probably be posting at least once a day, not only to continue documenting my journey to supermomdom, but also so I do not forget all the daily things that I'll want to be able to tell my husband about when he returns and probably as an accountability thing, too. Its harder to curl up in a ball and waddle in misery when you have to admit it to other people.

Until tomorrow, then. . .

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