Promise and Pressures

“Entreat me not to leave you, or to turn back from following after you”

Before Delta and I were engaged, he asked me if I would wait for him when he left. I wholeheartedly agreed. We didn’t know then where he’d be going, for how long, or where he’d go after. We didn’t know if I’d be able to go with him, or what would be waiting for me if I did. But I promised anyway.

“For wherever you go, I will go; and wherever you lodge, I will lodge”

After he proposed, he was moved to Germany. It’s a common joke of ours: it gets serious, you run off to Texas; you propose, you leave the continent. Since then, business trips of every kind have kept us from spending more than a few weeks together. Staying with my family made the most sense, especially when we found out Baby Girl would be making her surprise debut. It’s been a blessing being home, but a bittersweet one.

“Your people shall be my people and your God, my God…”

Delta’s schedule for next year isn’t looking much different from this one. I know better than to ask for specifics, he won’t say anything I want to hear, but I ask anyway.

And he asks me again if I would wait here or if I would wait there.

If it means spending 25 weeks with him instead of four, yes. If it means 30 days together and 30 days apart, yes.

“…if anything but death parts you and me”

And then another bittersweet reality, like a bag being placed over my head, it’s not just the two of us. She’s resilient, but she’ll feel the move. For me it’ll be like waking up from a prolonged nap, but for her, everything will change.

Grandparents will not be there to welcome the morning. Aunts and uncles will not be there to play in the afternoon. There will be no more school, with a dozen little friends and dozens of books and toys and playmats. There will be someone new playing games and taking mamas attention. There will be some days when my arms are the only ones holding her.

I’ve never felt pressure to be anything different with Delta. That’s one perk to our lifestyle, there’s been no expectations at the end of the honeymoon or about homemaking or romance or support. There are overwhelming pressures that come with being a parent – being a first-time parent, a working parent, a single parent. In the next year, I will be the only constant in Baby Girl’s life.

Part of me (the wife part) is desperate to fast forward. Another part of me (the adventurous part) is already planning weekend itineraries and daydreaming about walking – not driving! – to a farmer’s market with berries and chocolate and wine. But another part of me (the mama part, which is taking over) is terrified. I will be breaking promises and breaking hearts, every day will still be bittersweet.

My promises to her will be much harder to keep.

Neither of us likes sand

Baby Girl looks so much like her daddy (Call Sign Delta) that I revel in the little things she gets from me. I know pride is a sin, but it's almost impossible not to wonder whether or not the two of us will be able to share interests and hobbies, so I'm focusing on reactions and mannerisms rather than physical characteristics.

The effort is almost futile. She sleeps with her blankie snuggled against her face, like my sister (Call Sign) Annie. She doesn't sit up or crawl yet because someone is always both holding and entertaining her, like Annie. She opens her mouth and bounces and grunts when she wants more food, like Delta. Her expressions are so overdramatized they are almost cartoonish, like Delta. So far, the only thing she gets from me is that she likes to sleep in.

Yesterday, my cousin, her husband and three (all under 3 years!) little ones came to visit. Living in Florida, they all love the water. My Baby Girl, though also born and (so far) raised near the water, does not. Despite it being a 95+ degree day and the lake as refreshing as day-old bathwater, she heaved tiny wimpers each time I dipped her in. She doesn't like the lake, she doesn't like the way I hold her in the lake, she really doesn't like the way sand feels.

My mom (Call Sign) Gigi tells us about my first summer in San Diego, I hated sand. I hated sand so much I would life my hands and feet up away from it like a yogi balancing on his rear in full boat pose. I hated sand so much that if any of it got on the towel I sat on I would point and cry until it was removed and once again pristine to my standards. So now we have that in common.

She did eventually warm up to the water. But I had to trick her by snuggling her close to my chest, then gradually wading in until it hit us both at the tummy. A few times, she reached down and touched it with her hands. With a sly little smile as if to remind me who's in charge, she grabbed a piece of floating seaweed and slapped it to my chest, just like Delta.