My girls inevitably end up in bed with me sometime after 3 a.m. I am never sure when, other than I’m sometimes semi-ruffled by a 3-year-old grabbing an edge of my fleece blanket.
But by the time my alarm goes off, and the sun peeks in the windows, we always wake up together.
I am too tired to care. My girls think it’s how things are done, and my husband? Well, he loves it.
He’s a cuddler, and I think that it allows him to make up some of that snuggle time he misses while deployed.
So, newly home, he cozies right up. The girls aren’t phased by less space in the bed; they just dive right in and snuggle between knees or under left shoulders if they can.
Everyone is happy. Maybe not 100 percent comfortable, but happy.
We all like our sailor to be home.
But while nights have been filled with extra love and snuggles, mornings are taking on a rougher hue.
Every time my husband returns home, we have new growing pains. The girls grow and change, often drastic changes because they are so little.
Which is why every morning I wake up to two little girls wailing for their daddy.
He gets up early and is gone before the sun. He works his full day and comes home. But he sneaks out early because he doesn’t want to rouse the three of us before 5 a.m. A fact which I appreciate.
But, it’s a fact that’s leaving my children terrified.
When he leaves every morning, my kids don’t quite understand that he’s coming back this time. And only in a matter of eight to 10 hours.
They just wake up and realize his daddy-shaped space is open in the bed. My older daughter comes to and wakes up fully and then can be talked down. She reminds herself that Daddy will be home for dinner that night.
But my younger one paces about crying Dada! Dada!, for at least an hour. It’s heart wrenching. And when he returns in the evening, he can’t leave her sight.
I love that my kids adore their father. That no matter how long he’s gone, they trust and love him. But it scares me that the mere thought of him leaving yet again elicits tears.
It breaks my heart when my 3-year-old asks him, “Are you staying home forever and ever this time?”
He can’t say, “Yes.”
I am glad this deployment is over. But these growing pains sure do linger.
