Confessions of a Military Wife (28 page)

Oh my God. She didn’t say “daddies.” She said “partners.”

She was attempting to be PC and sensitive to our particular circumstance. Everyone looked directly at us. We knew what they were thinking: “Look at the gays. Aren’t they cute? Look, the little one’s the man. That’s odd.”

I had to let them know what was really going on. When it came to our turn, Beenie went first. She stated her name, how far along she was, and then added, “And this is my partner, Mollie.”

I interrupted like a frazzled teen busted for drinking on prom night. “I’m her partner! I’m her ‘life partner'! I mean, we aren’t gay or anything. Not that there is anything wrong with being gay. I mean I majored in theater in school. I know a lot of gays. I am just saying that we have husbands.”

The couples were staring at me. I continued: “They’re both in the military right now. They’re both deployed, so I’m helping her have this baby. I mean, she really has a man and he got her pregnant. I didn’t get a turkey baster or anything. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. It’s just we … her and I … are not gay. AT ALL. We love our husbands. They’re Marines…. They’re at war right now.”

Dead silence.

A cricket chirped. Jaws dropped. They kept staring at my dumb ass.

I don’t think I was very convincing, but I had certainly been emphatic. Beenie burst out, laughing her ass off at my expense.

At that point I decided, “Who the hell cares?” Some people dislike the military just like some people dislike gays, so you can never win, especially in California.

Beenie’s laughter broke the ice. After that, many of the couples started asking questions about our spouses and were really sweet. I think they felt bad for Beenie, who was having her first baby alone, and for me, for being a complete idiot.

The class met once a week. Beenie and I learned a lot about childbirth and our friendship. The experience brought us closer together.

One night the teacher encouraged us to sit on mats on the floor. Mommies were supposed to sit in between the legs of their men, who would hug them around the back.

I was really uncomfortable doing this, but not because I had to straddle my best friend. I am only five feet tall with a 27-inch in-seam. The physical act was hard for both of us.

But not because Beenie was not a big pregnant woman, but because she’s at least eight inches taller than me. My legs barely made it around her waist.

We kept tipping backwards and ended up rolling around on the ground. If she tipped backwards, I got trapped beneath her. Besides that, she couldn’t get up and I could not push her off me. Some of the daddies in the class had to help us. We did a lot of laughing in the class.

I did get good at massaging her hands, arms, and lower back, but I just couldn’t hold her up.

The class was an intense time for Beenie and me as we prepared for Baby Grace’s arrival. I knew I could not take the place of her daddy, but I wanted to do whatever I could to make the situation as comfortable as possible for Beenie. I wanted to help soothe her fears and help her get through the newness of it all.

It was frightening enough to sit at home while our husbands were fighting a war, but it was an extreme challenge to be pregnant with your first child during this time. I could only imagine the anxiety Beenie was experiencing.

Looking back, we joke that Grace was my first baby, too. I really do feel a special bond with this little girl.

Beenie was ready for a baby shower and I wanted to give her one she would never forget. I knew it was hard enough to have your first baby far away from family, but she was going through it without her husband.

I determined to make it a fun, all-girl event. We weren’t going to have a typical baby shower. It was going to be a celebration of fertility! In fact, it turned into a bachelorette-style party. I bought a fake mustache and cowboy hat and played her husband for the day, which made Lloyd jealous. What a nut!

We didn’t plan any of these boring typical shower games, like measure the baby bump. NO, my shower games were R-rated and much more fun!

The first game required that we each write down the myths we had heard on how not to get pregnant. Then I collected them up and read them out loud. Was it a surprise that the wife with the most kids thought doing jumping jacks after sex would prevent pregnancy?

Then we wrote down ways to get pregnant, or how to insure the sex of your child. These answers were even funnier. You would not believe the bizarre positions some wives got themselves into just to secure a “junior.”

My favorite game was the one that required the wives to write down the wildest place they had made whoopee with their spouse.

One wife piped up and said, “Does it have to be with your husband? I have a real good one!”

After all the ladies had written down their escapades, I read them out loud and we had to guess who had done what and where. I had never heard such stories. I thought I was creative, but clearly I had a few things to learn. I won’t reveal who did what, but here are some of the best answers:

— a park bench in Charleston

— a dressing room at the Bon Marché

— a tanning bed (while it was on! Imagine those tan lines …)

— a roof top during a party, in the winter!

You knew Marines were wild, but now you know it takes two to tango.

Grace is now and always has been my special girl. Since I had been screaming at her through Beenie’s stomach from the time she was the size of a peanut, we had gotten to know each other pretty well. I credit her great sense of humor to all the laughing her mom and I did during the pregnancy.

I was there for the labor and delivery and had the great honor of being one of the first people to see this darling girl enter the world.

She was a blessing from the moment she arrived. I enjoyed holding her and changing her diapers, being with her and Beenie in the hospital those first days, and then seeing her at home.

I had my guestroom fixed up for Grace, and even bought a high chair and crib for her to use when she and Beenie came for weekend visits.

Everyone in the neighborhood had such a great time visiting with Baby Grace. I was especially happy to have the sweet little girl in my home.

Some mornings I would hear Grace waking up and I would go in and sit in the bed with Beenie while she fed Grace. Sometimes the three of us would fall asleep together. She helped us get through a tumultuous time.

UGLY BABY

There was a surge of births around the beginning of the war. In fact, I can think of at least five other births in addition to little Grace.

I had planned to make the long drive to visit Beenie and Grace, but when I arrived, there was another mother with her newborn girl visiting. I know I am biased, but Grace was a precious, beautiful baby. She had this head of dark hair—more than my pitiful mullet had at that time.

This other woman’s baby wasn’t so lucky. How do I say it?

She had an ugly baby.

Bald, cross-eyed, white pasty skin—a face you couldn’t say was “cute as a button.”

The problem started when we sat around enjoying lemonade. The moms started doing what mothers do. They were watching and commenting on the antics of their children. “Oh look at her. Isn’t she so cute? Isn’t she petite? She is so darling and feminine. She is so beautiful.”

The two went back and forth like a ping pong match.

Lies, all lies! I was trying so hard to keep my mouth shut.

The comments kept coming, faster and faster. Then they stopped and looked at me like, “Why aren’t you saying anything?”

I couldn’t say a word. My mother taught me if you can’t say anything nice you don’t say anything at all. Although I had never listened to her, I felt that in the presence of this defenseless child I just had to follow mom’s orders.

I panicked, stood up, and announced, “I have to go.”

It was an uncomfortable moment. I had been there less than thirty minutes and had driven an hour to get there!

When Beenie walked me to the door, I told her, “I just can’t take it. The baby is so ugly. I have nothing to say. I just can’t be a part of that.” And then I left.

Many of you may not be impressed with me right now. If only I could include a photo of this child, then you could understand. But I can’t because my mother would be ashamed of me. Besides, I’d hurt that child’s feelings as well as upset her mother.

I will report that I have seen recent photos of the child. She has overcome her initial awkwardness and appears quite normal.

As I look back, I realize that my reaction to this little girl was really about the ugliness in myself. In my defense I will say this: deployment does crazy things to your toleration level. Even the simplest things can send you over the edge.

That was one day when I just could not deal.

GET ME OUT OF HERE!

You can get a little cage crazy during a deployment, especially if you live on base. I strongly recommend taking at least one trip.

But it will be bittersweet. You’ll be relieved to get away from the drama. Then you’ll be on vacation, far from base, and find yourself thinking, “I miss my security blanket.”

Trust me, ladies, this vacation is vital. Just go!

Make sure you plan where you are going and consider whether it will be comfortable for you. In fact, plan to visit with family or friends who will be sensitive to your situation and your moods.

You might even consider visiting another military wife at another base. Or better yet, take a road trip with another military wife to somewhere fun! At least you’ll have someone with you who understands you. Best of all, you’ll be in a different environment.

During Jon’s first deployment, my stress level was on high alert. We had been married for one year and I was far away from my family.

The war had broken out. I was a birthing coach for my best friend who was about eight months “prego.” My other best friend, Erin, was marrying her Marine and I was flying east to be in their wedding.

I was afraid to leave the base. What if something happened to Jon? What if a terrorist attacked the base while I was gone? (Remember WMDs were an issue then.) What if the baby (Grace) arrived early? So many worries plagued me.

But I knew I had to surrender my worries to God in order to stop the insanity.

In the end, it was one of the greatest and most amazing trips I had ever taken. This vacation was needed and well-deserved. Erin, her family, and in-laws made me feel so comfortable.

And yet, I still got scared. A few times I had to excuse myself so I could cry in private.

Still, we laughed, shopped, celebrated her wedding, and had so much fun together. It was the perfect distraction at a time when I needed it the most.

I am so glad that even with the war raging I had the guts to go. Jon took comfort in knowing I was with good people who loved me and were taking care of me during a stressful time.

After the wedding I went on to Columbia, South Carolina, to see my girlfriend Holly, who was in medical school, and her fiancé Geno. I had known them for more than six years. It was extremely hot in the South during my visit.

Someone got the bright idea to buy fireworks from one of those reputable stands on the side of the road. We thought it would be good entertainment when it cooled off that night. We bought tanks, snakes, cherry bombs, and bottle rockets.

We were just a bunch of regular Southern good ole boys planning a night of drinkin’ and setting off fireworks in a parking lot.

Keep in mind that Holly’s fiancé was in his late 30s, and that she was studying to become a doctor. And there I was, married to the Marine officer. You would think that collectively we had some sense, right? After all, there is not much to do at night in the South.

Around 9:30 p.m. we cut through some trees behind their apartment complex and headed for an abandoned lot where truckers park their rigs. We started by setting off a few sparklers and tiny ground fireworks.

A short time later a couple of big fireworks went off in the distance, followed by sirens a few minutes later. We figured someone had just gotten busted for setting off illegal fireworks. The police were out in full force that night, so we knew we had to be on high alert.

We set off a big one. It was a beauty! The rocket was huge and exploded with bright colors high in the night sky.

When we heard sirens again, we put our heads together to guess which direction the sirens were coming from, and whether we had time to set off one more. We decided to go for it.

Holly and I stood about fifty feet away from the clearing ready to make a break for it, if necessary. Poor Geno was alone out there with a lighter, a bottle, and the last rocket.

The rocket was just starting its ride into the sky when huge high beams of light flooded us, followed by sirens and flashing red lights on top of a squad car. Holly and I simultaneously screamed, “Cops!”

Then we did what any two college-educated, mature ladies would do. We hauled ass toward the woods.

The car came in so fast I swear the bumper grazed my ankles. We didn’t stop to look back, but kept running.

A cop jumped out of the car and yelled “Stop!” on his bullhorn. It was so loud my ears hurt. Somehow our brains took over and we did as ordered.

“I don’t know what you two are thinking running from the pole-lease (police)!” he exclaimed.

We looked at one another and shrugged. Geno was laughing at us while he stood in the dark parking lot.

That’s when it dawned on me that it was the middle of the night and I was standing in an abandoned parking lot with no ID. I had been drinking and was setting off illegal fireworks. I was sure I was going to be arrested.

I remember thinking how I was going to explain to the Red Cross that I needed a wire transfer from Iraq for bail money to get out of jail. As I stood there contemplating my husband’s reaction to my imminent arrest, the officer and Geno had a conversation and it was agreed that he would not press charges if we would pack up and head straight home. I thought my heart was going to stop as I exhaled a giant sigh of relief.