Wednesday, July 31, 2013

From February

Right now my husband is downstairs packing. Every time he is not in the room with me I feel a sense of panic as if we are wasting precious time. I want to look at him constantly. I want to be able to reach out and always have him there to hold my hand. If he isn't there I worry it is time lost that we will never get back.
But all of this panic is silent, within me. I want to make this last week happy. I want to act completely normal. I am constantly praying for strength to make it through all of this. For peace of mind. I pray to find the joy in what seems like the end of my world.
Bryce is always reminding me that women do this all the time, that they've been doing it for years and years. That at least this is only a year. At least he is going somewhere safe. I read testimonials all the time of wives giving birth while their husbands are away. Of fathers meeting their baby when they are months old.
But nothing makes it easier. I fight myself away from thinking how unfair this is. How unfair it is that he will most likely miss his daughter's birth. That I won't have him as support all those sleepless nights. That I won't have him as a partner in this journey of new parenthood. How unfair it is that he will miss her first giggles, the first time she rolls over, the first time she crawls, her first christmas.

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