You ask any woman who survived a deployment, and chances are she will tell the 9th month was the worst.
I dont know why, but that is the truth.
All I remember from the 9th month of our last deployment, is a lot of crying, cussing, screaming, pouting and pouting some more.
I am about to enter the 9th month of this deployment, and I have a feeling it wont be any different than the first time around.
It makes no sense, you have survived 9 months, there is only 3 to go. 3 months seems like a piece of cake in theory. You hit double digits while on month 9. Seeing the numbers dwindle from 100days to 99 days left is magical, yet none of that matters.
By the 9th month, you are done. You patience is shot, you dont want to be strong anymore, you just want to sit down and cry and sob. Every happy couple enjoying a saturdays beautiful sunshine is met with your death glare.
You dont want to be like that, you want to be happy, you want to to enjoy and soak every moment. You want to be thankfull you have a husband who loves you. You want to appreciate the little things that comes with a husband gone. Less laundry, a full bed to yourself, unlimited time of trashy reality shows without any sights of the latest games around.
Yet by the 9th month, you would gladly give up that big spacious bed for your tiny small spot, with huge hairy leg on top of you heating you up, you would sit thru hrs and hrs of the stupid Steelers game, you will welcome the profanity that ensues when the Steelers is loosing, you would do loads and loads of more laundry, just so you can feel complete again. Just so you can have someone to give you a hand when all you need is 2 more seconds, someone to be bad cop and discipline the children. Just someone you can have a good adult conversation with.
At the end of 9 months, a pregnant woman brings home her cute little bundle of joy, at the end of 9 months, all a woman with a deployed husband gets is the notion she still has 2 more months left to go.
The concept of time is so strange and odd to me. 1 hr is and has always been 60 minutes. Yet 1 hrs of children whining seems like 10 hrs. 1 hr of children laughing seems like 5 minutes.
The 3 months we have left seems so much longer than the 9 we have already survived. The next 3 months seems like an eternity compared to anything.
I would love to say that this year I will do things different, I will enter number 9 with a big smile on my face, I will gather strength and shine instead of just surviving. I would love to break the cycle, yet I doubt I will.
I just don't have it in me anymore. I am on autopilot. Wake up, feed the children, do this do that, survive another minute, one foot in front of the other seems to be my mantra and I am sick and tired of it.
I want the next 3 1/2 months to rush on by. I just want to get to the finish line and go back to living life.
ps...Sorry for all the whining and the depressing thoughts, but this is one last attempt to get it out of me and out there in the world so maybe, just maybe I will feel lighter and try to find joy in the fact we have survived 8 1/2 months and there is little left to go. I dont know if it will work, but hope is eternal right??