Single Mother. The life of wife...

Single motherhood. Call me nieve but when I married my highschool sweet heart at the ripe age of eighteen, divorce was never ever a thought in little mind. And certainly when I gave birth eighteen months later, to our precious ten pound beauty single motherhood was not something that ever crossed my mind. You don't get married and plan a family to leave them. Apparently some men, lot's of "men" can't handle it, they self sabatoge, they cheat, they abuse, they leave.

Being a single mother is something that I find a lot of shame in. I feel like people look at me when I hold Addy's little hand, with no ring on my finger, and they think I'm some young stupid girl who got knocked up having unprotected drunk sex with a random stranger. They don't know that we planned for Adaline, that we expected it to take six months to get pregnant, at leastand were extrememly surprised when we saw that pink plus sign in the first two weeks. They don't know that we owned our own home, and that I drove a beautiful car. They don't know that we sacraficed, that Adam went to war multiple times, and I stayed home and waited. They don't know the struggle that you constantly have as the months lead up to them leaving...the way they retract and push you away. The way you struggle for months waiting, trying to do your best to keep the love alive, and send enough care packages to make sure they know you think about them every second. They don't know the stress that reintigration causes, and the panic that starts setting in after a few months of them being gone. Once you find your groove, it's time to start worrying about them coming home. You wait and wait and count down to that minute, drive around for hours in circles waiting for the plane to land so you can finally throw your arms around him. The national anthem plays, you cry tears of pride. You see him walk down those stairs and shake the hands of eveyone that is important, and your heart swells. You are so proud. You made it. You both did. Look how strong you are. He finally spots you in the the crowd...you cry, he doesn't smile. Your Heart Breaks.

He peaks in the back of the suv and looks in at his little baby, who isn't the little baby he left earlier that year. Your heart breaks. He has you drive home because he hasn't driven anything in months, and the highway freaks him out. Your Heart Breaks. He drops his multiple huge bags on the floor as he walks through the door, and heads straight for the bed. To Sleep. Your heart breaks. You put the baby down for a nap, take off your sexy outfit, and make his dinner. And cry, he's safe, he's home, you can breathe. Your heart breaks. You go lay next to him and hold him, he cries, you make love, his eyes aren't the same. His body isn't the same. Your heart breaks. The tears fall, and you lay there holding eachother crying, ugly crying. Then the baby cries over the monitor, she's standing in her crib and has thrown everything onto the floor. You get up, wipe the tears, get dressed and go bring her into your bed. This is something that has become really normal for you, the crying, the surviving...your heart breaks. Days, weeks, months pass...he doesn't speak. You make yourself believe everything is fine, you smile, inside you cry, you made it, he made it. He made amazing friends while he was gone, and so did you. You have a new family. And you spend every free moment surrounded by them. You loose eachother. Your hear breaks. Around the fire on Saturday nights you hear stories he never told, stories you never wanted to hear. Ever. Your heart breaks. Later you hold him tighter, love him harder. You don't ask about the story, because if he wanted to tell you, he would have already told you. Your heart breaks.

Four months pass, and he's already got oreders...again. Your heart breaks. The next sixty days fly by...deployment check lists, trying to fit in all the family fun he will miss, you wash his clothes, you pack his bags, you make his favorite dinners, you cry and cry and cry, but he never knows. You can do this, you've done it before, you'll be fine, he will be fine. You know this isn't true. Nothing will ever be fine again. Your heart breaks. You don't speak at normal volumes any more, the amount of times that a simple question turns into you held up against the wall by your throat, is more then you'd like to count. Your heart breaks.

Through it all the only thing you can see is your little baby. You have to do this for her. She needs her father. A girl needs her Daddy. Before you know it the day has come, you wake up at two am, put the baby in the car, he drives to the plane. He hugs you both, kissses you a million times, and just one more like it's the last time he will every get to kiss you again, gets his stuff and walks away. You get into the drivers seat and watch your heart walk away...again. Your heart breaks. You drive home, blairing your sad heart soundtrack, and cry. Big ugly cry. Get it out and overwith. You pull in the garage, put the baby to bed and lay in bed and wait for the text to come that says he's on the plane. Your Heart Breaks. For the next fourty-eight hours you wait for the calls, then that final call saying "I'm here, I made it". Your heart breaks.

This time you know what to expect, or do you? Your friendships get stronger, your marriage gets weaker...In three years you have spent a total of ninteen months apart. He comes home, it's a lot of the same...you're surviving, trying desperately to be a family again. It isn't working. More of the distance, more of the yelling, more of the being pushed up against the wall, both literally and figuritively. Your heart doesn't break anymore. You survive, you get through the day, you try your best to do everthing right, you are strong, you get strong, what choice do you have, really? You won't be a single mom, besides you practically already are. He started traveling as soon as his R&R leave ended. For two weeks he was yours...or was he? The months tick by, he's gone for a week, home for three days, gone again. Your life becomes a constant cycle of two am drop offs, last kisses, and first kisses. You are so lost. Your heart is already broken...it can't get any worse. But it's gotta get better, rite?

It doesn't. And before you know it, he comes home with a girl friend. He doesn't love you anymore. He tells you he hasn't loved you since the first time he left and came home. You fight to hold on. You will not be a single mother. You already do this alone...you won't do this alone alone. Your daughter needs a father, you need a husband...how will you look? What will everyone say? How are you going to start over? You refuse. Then it gets so bad that one day you find yourself locking him out of the house, you run across the street to your best friends house, leave the baby where she will be safe and loved. Something you've been doing more often then not the last two weeks...Before you know it you call home... You're packing your bags, saying goodbye to your home, hugging your friends, and saying goodbye to him. This isn't permanent, he will come after us. By Christmas we will be back here. Christams comes and Christmas goes...he doesn't come. He doesn't apologize. He doesn't beg. He doesn't cry. He doesn't care.

Your daughter will grow up with out a father. You are alone alone. You have to start over, you have to build a life, you have to be two people. You've done it before, this will be the same rite? Wrong.

Thirty percent of couples who married under the age of twenty end in divorce. Add that to the ten percent of military divorces...the odds weren't good.

I am a single mother. At age 22, after four years of marriage, I am a single mother. I hate to even use that term, so much negativity surrounds it. So much pressure is behind those five words, so much shame.

Adaline and I have been struggling to find our groove. We've spent more time kicking our feet, yelling at eachother and holding eachother crying then I ever expected before she turned thirteen. Making a peanut butter and jelly sandwhich with out ruining my makeup has now become a victory. Making it through the day with out falling to pieces has become a win. When did life turn into this? How did this happen? How do I fix it? I am a single mother...of a two and a half year old, struggling, crawling, falling apart. My heart is broken.