Perspectives

As I sit here, my husband deploys in 2 days. It will only be for training- we'll see him for a couple of days at the end of May before he ships out for Iraq- but it's still very final. Our life as we know it ends Friday. I knew this day was coming. This is part of what I signed up for when I agreed to marry Shawn. Furthermore, this is what I wanted- to be a military wife. But the last two months... wow. We've had some serious stuff going on, and I want to tell Uncle Sam, "You know what? Just kidding. I thought I could handle this, but I've changed my mind. You can't have him." Unfortunately, it doesn't work that way. My husband can leave and go overseas, or go to jail for going AWOL. I guess there would be a bit more honor in telling people that Shawn is "deployed" versus "in prison". You all already know that I'm pregnant, and due August 6th. So, sadly enough, on top of the regular emotions that a wife experiences while facing a deployment, I have an extra flux of hormones. I imagine that I'm quite frightening to be around. Shawn will probably feel much safer once he arrives overseas. The other day, a pregnant acquaintance sent me a message on Facebook, telling me that she would be raising her baby, alone, too. She said that she knew we would make it. I was a little confused, because last I knew, she had a loving, doting husband of less than two years. I instant messaged her, and it turns out that he has already grown tired of marriage and is currently having an affair. She is now single, and devastated. One thing that she said during our conversation is, "At least Shawn is coming back." Sometimes, all it takes is one sentence to slap you back where you need to be. She wasn't chastising me, or looking for my pity; she simply wanted me to recognize that my situation could be a lot worse. Since then, I decided to take all my mournful, dramatic laments and find the bright side of them. This is the list I have come up with so far:

1. Dramatic Lament: I will miss Shawn's scent! His cologne, his deodorant, his skin...

Bright Side: No more noxious man gasses.

2. DL: He will probably miss the birth of our first child together!

BS: He won't witness me in the ugly throes of labor and delivery.

3. DL: I'll have to sleep alone for an entire year!

BS: No more elbows to the face, or knees to my ginormous belly. Also, please refer to the bright side of #1.

4. DL: I'm going to be bored and lonely at night!

BS: I can watch all the "Dancing With the Stars" that I want on Hulu.

5. DL: Who will make me eggs or get ice cream at 11:00pm simply because he thinks I might like some?

BS: No one. Maybe you'll quit gaining so much weight.

6. DL: Who will take out the trash, or open jars that are too tight?!

BS: Remember when you could survive without a man? You need some independence.

7. DL: Who will bring me caffeine in the mornings so that I can drag myself out of bed?!

BS: The 12-pack I buy in the beginning of the week will not disappear in one day. Genevieve will bring it to you in the mornings if she knows what's good for her.

This list grows by the day as little attacks of "Poor Me Syndrome" try to get the best of me. Ultimately, I know for a fact that absence truly does make the heart grow fonder. Having daughters who are 9 and 6 years old may not seem helpful, but already they are doing what they can to be mommy's helpers, and are very proud of their roles. As a matter of fact, the other day as Genevieve wiped flat surfaces with a damp paper towel (her favorite chore in the world other than lining up our shoes in the hallway), she sighed and shook her head, saying, "I don't know what you would do without us." I don't know what I would do, either :)

Another factor contributing to frazzled nerves in this house is all of Genevieve's dermatological and allergy issues. The poor child has suffered so much lately for skin problems that would be a minor annoyance for most people. "Treatment" of her fragile epidermis has left her severely burned on two separate occasions. We've had to hold her down to peel tape off of her burns, which of course lifts off layers and layers of tender skin. Listening to her screams...it's enough to break a momma's heart. Luckily, big sister Olivia knew just what to do: she made a mix of pop and juice, stuck a straw in it, and called it a "Quiet-enator". I was frustrated, thinking that the last thing Genevieve needed was a straw in her face. However, with each scream, Genevieve would latch her mouth onto that straw and drink the special elixir. It worked wonders. Another time, when she screamed and yelled for me to blow on her wounds at the same time, she made a funny sound that the girls called her "Oprah scream". They dissolved into giggles and laughed for the rest of the bandaging session. It blew my mind. All it took was for Olivia to bring in a good attitude and some orange soda, and Genevieve practically had fun with the ordeal. I wonder, how on earth do parent's of seriously ill children do it? How can they possibly endure? I need to be grateful that Genevieve's problems lie only in her skin and allergies. I need to appreciate the consideration and ideas that Olivia brings to the table. I need to appreciate Genevieve's humor and awe of her big sister.

The last couple of months have been humbling. It is always a very painful experience when God decides I need some humbleness. About three months ago, we discussed some theology in the car, and I told Shawn and the girls that whenever I say, "God, I know I need to be humbled," some very trying experiences follow. Then I silently wondered..."wait, that didn't count, did it? It was just an example, not a true prayer request for humility." It counted. There have been many other difficulties that we have faced that I don't care to mention. We've lived. Most likely, we're stronger for it. When Friday comes and goes, we will tackle all of the new difficulties that come with a deployment, and we will become even stronger.