Here we go again

I’m sitting in Pudong International Airport waiting to fly home from ten days in Shanghai. Again.

It has been almost exactly one year since I last wrote this blog from this very seat; since last I chronicled my intensions for the year to come: to come home, finally see J, get married, and live happily-ever-after-the-end.

The passage of time is an incredible thing. In one breath, I can say it’s only been a year—365 short days. Yet when I recount what has transpired in that one little year’s time, it is patently astonishing.

So where do I pick up after said incredibly short-long year?

First of all, as you may recall, this time last year, J was coming home from his year Over There. In a relatively sad commentary on the state of the world, as I got ready to take off to fly here again this time, the news on the TV above my head in the airport was still talking about Afghanistan. Last year, I watched J’s unit arriving home from the departures terminal of an airport only about a state away from where he was landing (that still ranks as about #2 on the list of most ironic and completely ridiculous moments of my life, by the way…) And this year, Afghanistan, still on the TV above me. Talk about a long year.

Now, I’d like to tell you that J and I are wildly romantic people who went running across the tarmac into each other’s arms, spinning wildly in circles as we fell to the ground in a loving embrace when we saw each other for the first time in months. But I’m pretty sure our reunion went a little something like this:

“Hi there, stranger.”

“Hey there.”

“Thanks for coming home from Afghanistan.”

“Thanks for coming home from China.”

A long hug. A loving kiss. And then we walked to the car, hand in hand, and drove home, talking like we’d just seen each other the day before, though I’m fairly certain I didn’t let go of his hand for the hour-fifteen drive back to his place from the airport. (Annnd let’s be honest, I think I sat and did the silent one-tear-down-the-cheek-at-a-time-cry-of-relief for at least the first twenty or so minutes.)

And then, of course, we got married. That was pretty fun.

Seriously, I know that everyone says that their wedding was the best one ever. And that it was the happiest day of their lives. And that it was perfect and all that.

But ours really was.

I guess there’s something to be said about a military officer and someone practiced at the art of event planning having almost two years to do nothing but obsess over the details of the day. It makes for a pretty smooth ride the day of the wedding. We were able to relax and laugh and spend quality time with all of our friends—exactly the things we had hoped we could do. The food was amazing; the weather was amazing; the people, the music, the flowers, the venue, my dress. You name it, we got complimented on how good it was.

And I can promise you I’ve never smiled as much or been so over the moon happy. Or so completely in love. Again, I know everyone probably says this about their wedding day. But seeing as you all lived through the year’s worth of my angst building up to it, I hope you’ll indulge me in a little post-event recount (gloat).

So then we live happily ever after, right? Wait—did you just tune in? What makes you think it would be that easy for us?

Our wedded bliss was not, in fact, immediate. J had a school to attend, halfway across the country. He started about a month before our wedding…took a 4 day pass to come GET married (thanks for the time off, Armed Forces)…and then had to go back to school for another month after the wedding. So, just to keep things interesting (and, you know, consistent) we didn’t see each other or live together (or in the time zone) for almost a month after we were husband and wife.

When J finally moved in to our new home, I remarked, only half-jokingly “there’s a decent chance that now that we get to see each other daily that we hate each other. You know that, right?”

J said he was willing to take that chance. He always is.

We took our honeymoon in Puerto Rico. It was lovely. And then we started our normal, regular, everyday life as husband and wife. For the first time in our almost four year courtship, we were living together in the same time zone at the same address. Finally.

Another hurdle cleared. Another deep breath taken.

So why start writing again now, when clearly, all of J’s and my obstacles have been overcome (she says, tongue in cheek)?

We have new intentions, of course.

J and I always intended to have a family—to have kids. And given our advanced age, (I’m only ancient by child-bearing standards) we knew it would have to happen sooner than later.

That said, we did not necessarily intend for it to be THIS much sooner than later. But, whadda ya know. Sometimes, you don’t get a say in the matter.

And so here we are, J and I no longer preparing to be husband and wife, but rather preparing to be parents. At least that is our intension. Upon this posting, I will be exactly 13 weeks and 3 days pregnant. Approximately one week after our one year wedding anniversary, we will bring another human being into the world (who on earth thought that this was a good idea?)

Much like last year, I will now count down the weeks until J’s and my world changes again. One more major life event for us on the horizon. To say that I’m scared out of my mind is a bit of an understatement. To say that J is over the moon excited and happy is even more of one.

So if you’ll indulge my crazy pregnant lady stories, I’d like to share this adventure with you and ultimately, someday, with the wee one currently taking up residence in my nether regions.

All of my mother friends told me I absolutely must start a pregnancy journal, as their greatest regret was that they didn’t write enough stuff down along the way.

Be careful what you wish for, friends. You just might get it.