Nightmare on Milspouse Street

It was a dark and stormy night…

It had been a long day, and I was grateful the kids were finally in bed. Hubs was gone to the field and not due home for a couple more days. I sat on the couch in the dark, regretting my bad life decision to finish the last of my suspense novel when home alone. I mean, it wasn’t that scary, but between the unexpected ending and the lightning cracking outside in the fall thunderstorm just a few days before Halloween…I was a bit jumpy.

Suddenly, I heard a dull roaring sound. Did I lock all the doors? I know I did…but maybe I should double check.

Before I could check the locks, I heard footsteps. Oh man…I’m not making this up!

I swiped my phone “flashlight” on and searched for something nearby that could be used as a weapon. I grabbed my daughter’s tap dance shoe from SKIES class and my son’s plastic fire truck. I pointed the shoe metal-heel side out and positioned the fire truck for launch. (My toes have met that shoe and my face has “caught” that fire truck, so I knew they were viable weapon choices in my desperate situation).

The footsteps grew closer. Was I sweating? Could they hear my heart pounding? 

The door handle coming in from the garage rattled, then turned. A dark figure stumbled its way from the shadows. That rumble was the garage door. I need to talk to the landlord about getting a security system. 

“STOP RIGHT THERE!” I hissed, careful not to wake the toddler (because I knew he would probably be scarier than whoever was now standing in my kitchen). “I’m armed!”

The light over the stove flipped on, and my husband started to laugh. “Hey, babe. Nice to see you, too. How much caffeine have you had tonight?”

I lowered my, uh, weapons. “I didn’t expect you home so soon. I was just…being cautious.”

I walked over and gave him a quick hug, because I knew the level of stank that likely hung on him after 12 days in the field. “So, why are you home sooner than scheduled?”

My beloved husband looked at me and scrunched up his face. His hand rubbed the back of his neck as he took a deep breath. “Well…I’ve got news.”

At that moment, I wished that it was an intruder in my house instead of my husband bearing “news.” I felt like I could handle the former option a lot better. At least the tap shoe and fire truck could fix that situation.

I lowered myself into a nearby chair at the kitchen table. Okay, milspouse. This is the moment we’ve been practicing for years. Be a grown up. Be graceful. I braced myself. “Okay… What’s ‘the news’?”

Hubs cleared his throat. “You know that position that I was ‘voluntold’ to apply for, but also told ‘not to worry’ because there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in, well, you know, of me getting it? Yeah. I’m on orders.”

I stared and blinked at him. Lovely. This was not part of our no-plan plan.

“Well, what does that mean for us?” I asked, still desperately trying to be an adult and keep my act together.

“It means we PCS to our least favorite duty station.”

“When?”

“We report in 28 days.”

“TWENTY-EIGHT DAYS?!” I jumped up so fast that I knocked the chair over.

“Shh! You’ll wake the kids,” hubs replied, trying to calm me down.

“But… But… The kids. School. The holidays…” Then I remembered. Our big trip. “We are supposed to take our big anniversary trip over Christmas block leave! That’s going to be nearly impossible if we report less than a month before we are scheduled to fly to Australia!”

My husband, being a no-nonsense kind of guy, then said words that sealed this nightmare into place: “I’m sorry, honey. The trip is a no-go. I will deploy after I complete in-processing.”

I felt the wind go out of my lungs. For the love of Pete. Can this day get any more ridiculous? As I tried to catch my breath and keep from losing what was left of my cool, I held my stomach… And remembered my news from earlier that day.

When it rains, it thunderstorms. Here goes nothing. 

I moved my eyes from focusing on the floor, looking at his boots that tracked mud into my freshly-mopped kitchen. Sight…going to have to clean that up before we move.

My eyes slowly traveled up his body until they were locked on his face. I blink. I blinked again.

He looked a bit apprehensive. “What’s going on? You’re never this quiet.”

That was all the encouragement I needed. I word-vomited all over him. “Well, seems like today is a day of unplanned surprises.  I hope you brought home champagne and confetti, because this is a doozy. Remember how we love our kids and are completely happy with the two we have, so you got snip-snipped awhile back but the doctor said it was only 99 percent effective and it’s been really great? Guess what? That doctor apparently sucks at math and we are overachievers. Consider this our annual State of the Uterus Address. We’re pregnant.”

At that moment, everything went black. The rain and thunder stopped. I gasped and sat up. I yanked off my eye mask. My clothes were stuck to me from sweating, and the bedsheets were tangled around my legs. I looked to the left, toward the windows. The curtains were closed, and I could see sunlight peeking up over the horizons. A nightmare. It was only a nightmare. 

I smiled and breathed a deep sigh of relief. We aren’t moving in 28 days. He’s not deploying. I’m not preggo. It’s a good day to be alive, people. 

My phone buzzed on my nightstand. A text message at 6:08 a.m. Who is texting me this early? 

Ah yes… “Beloved Husband” the screen read. Why is he texting me so early? Shouldn’t he be doing PT? 

I rolled over and read the text:

Hey Babe. You awake?

Yeah, what's up. 

Well... I've got news.