"Life is what happens while you
are busy making other plans." -John Lennon
So, I've been gone awhile. I know, shame on me. I did some pretty
important stuff. At least I'm coming back with stories. I birthed
babies, welcomed Mr. Streetlight home, got married, sent Mr. Streetlight
off on Army business, and survived the Apocalypse and Christmas. It's been a long few months.
Shall we start with babies? I think we shall. I welcomed two beautiful girls into the world at the end of August via emergency c-section. I'm two for two. My kids like to do it big, what can I say? My Baby A had IUGR. She wanted out like crazy, so the docs decided to let her out. She was five pounds and one ounce. My Itty Bitty. Baby B came three minutes later and was six pounds and eight ounces. Can you tell who ran the show in there? Mr. Streetlight was two weeks shy of graduating Basic Training. My mother called every damn number she could find until she somehow ended up with a drill sergeant's direct line. I have no idea how she did it, but bless her heart. 18 hours after they were born, Daddy finally found out. I got a call to my hospital room just as my girls were being brought in from the nursery. He was so quiet you could hear a pin drop... Well, if you don't count the screaming baby. His babies had arrived. I had to ask him if he was ok about a hundred times before I got a very quiet, "They're here?" out of him.
The next few days are very much a blur. There was a lot of pain medication involved. I remember seeing my beautiful boy for the first time just hours after they arrived. I was holding one of his baby sisters, and his perfect little face showed nothing but betrayal. The sippy cup slipped out of his shocked hands and rolled across the floor. What was that thing Mommy was holding? What had Mommy done with that giant awesome belly that moved all by itself? That was it. He had made up his mind that he was leaving and he turned right back around and ran for the door. He fought my grandmother tooth and nail, but she finally convinced him to sit on the couch and stay. For the next two days, he wouldn't come near me when he visited. On the third day he let the grudge go. He walked right in, climbed up on the bed, and gave me a big hug. Best. Hug. Ever. I must say, I was a little proud that my child could hold a grudge that long. Two days to a toddler has to feel like a lifetime.
A few days after we were sent home, I got a letter for each of our children from Mr. Streetlight. He started writing the first letter for Baby A the day they were born at 9pm. He was still waiting on her. Little did he know, she was here waiting on him.
Eight more weeks went by and finally I got to see that man. I got to cry in an airport in front of perfect strangers. I got to watch him hold his daughters for the first time. I got to watch my son act the way he had acted toward me the day his sisters were born. I watched him eyeball his daddy and look at him as if he were saying, "You stuck me with her. You stuck me with her and those things that cry all the time. How dare you?" The cold shoulder only lasted until Mr. Streetlight was picking up his luggage. Because, you know, I only carried him in my body for nine months. Mommy doesn't count. Daddy is the business. At the end of the day, though, it never even crossed my mind to be upset. I'm still not upset. I saw my daughters meet their father after almost three months of life, I saw my son love again just like his favorite person had never been gone, and I got to see the face that I had missed every single day for five months.
I became Mrs. Streetlight two days later at a small ceremony in the church I went to growing up. Two days after that we celebrated Thanksgiving. Not much later, I had to tell him goodbye again for a year. I got to cry again in front of more perfect strangers in the same airport. At this point it's a hard road. I wake up everyday and think Get up, Coco. It's not the end of the world. Your babies can't see you cry. They haven't and they won't. We play and giggle and read stories. I tell my boy when he's at his worst, "You can miss Daddy. Daddy misses you, but Daddy doesn't want you to be bad because you're sad." He looks at me like a child beyond his years and he brushes himself off and carries on. The hardest part of this is my boy. Sometimes I think he loves Mr. Streetlight more than I do. He's a tough kid. He's had a hard year, but he still carries on like everything is fine. Some mornings I feel like he's tougher than I am. I could never be more proud of him for being so strong.
