Everything is just fine, until...

I try really, really (really, really) hard not to whine or complain about Paul's deployment.  There are some who would just tell me, "Well, you knew what you were getting into when he joined the military."  Which I disagree with, but that's besides the point.  No one really understands what it's like to say goodbye to your husband (or wife), who is headed to a warzone for 7 (or more) months, unless they've actually done it themselves.  So to say, "Oh, I totally understand how you're feeling," when you haven't done that?  No.  For that reason, I don't really share much of my misery, whether with friends or on Facebook or whathaveyou, because there are very few who actually understand.  Plus, I'm not really looking for sympathy, and I don't want to open the aforementioned, "Well, you knew this going in it..." can of worms. 

And honestly, most days are really good.  William and Amelia keep me very busy so lots of the day is spent chasing them around and playing, and the hours pass by relatively quickly.  But there are certain things, just random events, that catch me off guard and send me spiraling into a pit of sadness.  I'm sure it's pretty normal.  And I also assume it's better to have these moments than not...because what would that say?  That I don't miss my husband?  So I guess this post is just a vent.

WOW.  Was that a ramble?

Everything is just fine, until...

1. You're driving and see a car exactly like your husband's, and get that excited feeling in your stomach because maybe, just maybe, it's him, home early to see you!
2. You're in a store and catch the fleeting scent of your husband's cologne. 
3. Your daughter tells you for the 12151839th time today that her daddy is "on a ship!"  No child should have to go so long without seeing both parents.
4. The weekend comes.  And you see all kinds of families WITH daddies, out having fun.  Paul hasn't been able to enjoy a summer with us since Amelia was a newborn.
5. You check, daily, the Donut of Misery.  It's only going to tell you how much time is left of the deployment (and it's a lot...)
6. You wake up in the middle of the night after a dream of your husband that was so real, and are super sad it had to come to an end.
7. You realize there are still so many holidays between now and homecoming.
8. And speaking of homecoming, you see pictures and video of other homecomings, and they make you so happy and so sad at the same time.  Because homecoming?  So. Far. A. WAY.

Wah me, right?  I know.

And the baby who evened the score.

So we all know how much of a joyful surprise William was.  I found out I was pregnant with him on December 10th (yes, I remember the exact date...even the time...11:17 was the time on the clock in our kitchen when the test popped up "Positive.")  Amelia was just over 7 months old, I took the test while she was napping on a whim, because I was having some intense back pain and was about to make a doctor's appointment to figure out what was going on.  Imagine my surprise, right?  It was more like paralyzing shock.

I spent pretty much every day of my pregnancy terrified that he was going to be a difficult baby, just like his big sister.  I was scared he'd be high maintenance from the beginning (he wasn't), a horrible sleeper (well, he wasthat), cry non-stop (nope), wouldn't take a pacifier (he did), or a bottle (he did - yay!)  I would go to sleep at night right up until the night before he was born, and plead with God to give me a baby with a laid-back temperment who I could handle while dealing with a toddler.  I was SO SCARED that we'd bring him home from the hospital and I'd fall to pieces again, only this time with an audience who would need her mommy to hold it together.  I couldn't (or maybe wouldn't) let myself relax.

I know Paul was thrilled to find out we were having a son. Those early days, where I was still dealing with the panic and fear of another baby, I'd pray for a son because then I could give Paul a little man to rough house with and do all those types of dirty, smelly, boy things.  There's just something about a father and son and the unique bond they share...probably similar to the bond mothers and daughters share.  I know he would have been thrilled for another daughter, and I would have been too, but we felt so blessed the day we found out our son was on the way. 

William's actual birth was very quick -- he was born while a team of nurses frantically paged a doctor, anydoctor, to come deliver him.  He just had plans of his own, and true to his personality, he's been that way ever since.  He's a determined, sweet, energetic little guy who would figure out a way to climb the refrigerator if there was something up there he wanted.  He loves his sister more than anyone else, even if she doesn't quite return that same level of affection.  He was such a sweet newborn, completely opposite from what I was expecting.  By about 2 months he perfected the "smize" (smile with the eyes) and his deep belly laughs are some of my favorite sounds ever.  I fear for his toddlerhood, only because I'm not sure I'll be able to sit down or sleep or even take my eyes off him until he's about 18...and even then, I wonder.

These days when I think back to the pre-William days, I always feel like he's missing.  There are pictures of Amelia's first Christmas, trips to the zoo and even day-to-day life and they all seem incomplete without him, even though another child was nowhere near our radar.  The transition to 2 babies was much easier than I ever imagined, though it's still no cake walk, and there are days I wake up and tell myself if we all survive to naptime then that counts as a success.  He's definitely evened the score (girls: 2, boys: 2...but girls still win, a lesson he'll need to learn soon and I'm sure big sister will teach him!) and completed our family. 

Perfect little boy, my Boog.

The baby who made me a mommy.

Amelia was very much a planned baby.  Paul and I dreamed of starting our family for about a year and a half before we finally got the positive test result that changed everything.  So it may come as a surprise to all when I say (gulp) it was not love at first sight.  Or, maybe a better way to phrase it would be, I loved her because I'm her mommy, but I didn't feel that amazing, intense, instant connection with her that I read all about while I was pregnant.  I remember clearly the moment they placed her tiny little pink body on my stomach the moment after she was born.  She started to cry and I thought, "Huh.  So I guess that means life as I know it is over." 

And that was pretty much my mindset for the first 8-9 months of her life.  Of course, I loved her intensely and took care of her the best way I knew how, but it took a long time for me to feel like she was really, truly mine.  She screamed.  All.  The.  Time.  And if you didn't have the pleasure of visiting us in those early days and months of her life, just take my word for it.  Doctors told me it wasn't colic, she was fussy and needy, and she was (obviously) just a baby.  If I had a penny for every time I heard the phrase, "Babies cry.  It's totally normal.  Babies cry."...well...let's just say I'd be driving a Bentley (or maybe I'd have a driver driving my Bentley) and living in a country estate in France because I would be LOADED.  I also struggled for a long time with post partum depression and anxiety, which is shameful and embarassing and humiliating and isolating.  It took a really long time for me to feel normal again...in fact, I remember about a week before I found out I was pregnant with William, I told Paul that I was finally feeling like me again, and I was so glad we weren't having another baby for a very long time.  HA!  God has such amazing timing, no?

Anyway.

I love my daughter.  I firmly believe our souls are entwined, that we're sort of cut from the same cloth, and that's why I physically hurt and ache when she's not with me.  I cannot imagine my life without her, not for a second.  I love her smile, her giggle, her fierce devotion to me...she is a mama's girl, through and through.  She loves her family, her baby brother (most of the time) and nothing makes her happier than a day spent outside. 

I can't believe she's already 2 years old.  Some days I look at her, and wish I had those first months of her life back to relive.  There are things I thought and said and felt that I am ashamed of, and I'll live with that for the rest of my life.  But I am so proud of the little girl she's become, I'm proud of the mommy she's made me, and I'm embracing (well, trying to embrace) all of the moments we share together. 

Love her.  To pieces.