As has become a familial half term tradition, my husband is away. It’s day two and I feel as if I’ve already gone through a hundred different emotions, as if the days here on planet Earth have converted to the length of Venus’, all 5,832 hours of them. I consider myself to be a pretty competent individual, aside from the normal,sometimes forgetting P.E kit slip-ups; the kids are well fed, dressed and entertained, the house is clean, everybody’s happy. However, prior to the leaving, and especially in those first few hours, I’m not ashamed to say that I can feel quite panicky at the thought of keeping the show running without my significant him.
What if the car breaks down, what if the baby never sleeps and I want to scream bloody murder, what if I fall over and break my leg, get an infection and die of sepsis poisoning? As you can see, my panic-stricken crazy over-thinking is hardly rational, or even sane. But love isn’t rational or sane, and maybe I’m being all teen drama, Twilghty, but I don’t think it should be. It’s intoxicating and all consuming, it’s being with the person who personifies your happy place. It is easy though to forget that in the everyday, mundane details of life; in the sniping of who did the washing up last, whose job it should be to put out the bins, who’s the most tired, whose hardly been at home for the last week. So, and I admit it, it does pain me to say this, in some ways the enforced separation can be a good thing.
That feeling of the first flush of romance is remembered, when your beloved is always in your thoughts and on your mind,; you remember how sweet it is to go to bed together
every night, to wake up together, to parent together and laugh at the kids wondrous ability to never find any of their belongings but can easily sniff out chocolate a mile away. You remember how lucky you are to be in love with the love of your life and to have them love you. You experience that first kiss feeling again when they return? Who else gets to do that?
That’s not to say that feelings of resentment, sadness and frustration don’t occur with waving my husband off on yet another course. Sometimes it seems incredibly unfair that the sacrifices I’ve made to my own career are frequently rubbed in my face by my husband swanning off on another, actually sounds like fun, career improving shindiggery. I know though that it’s important, not just for him, but for all of us as a family; the reasonable part of me is well aware of the fact that with my
husbands career comes stability (perversely) and a good lifestyle for all of us. So, yes, a mixed bag of a hundred emotions then, there are mostly bad parts but there are good ones too and I know my husband also hates being away, particularly since having the baby, missing out on the everyday idiosyncrasies and craziness of family life, like the baby’s first word, which unfortunately was “Fart”.