I am nearing the last few weeks of my second pregnancy and somehow this time around it is more stressful than having my first son while my husband was deployed in Afghanistan.

PCSing across country at 32 weeks pregnant with a 20 month old, moving into “historic” base housing (note for future housing assignments accepted unseen, “historic” does not mean cute and southern; it means old, awkward and high maintenance, but that’s a story for another day), not knowing a single soul and having a husband take an 8-week job that keeps him away for days at a time have tested my limits and sanity. Don’t get me wrong, I am incredibly grateful that my husband is not deployed this time around, but just because he isn’t in Afghanistan doesn’t mean he is actually home.

Let me rewind for you. In 2010, my husband and I received the news that we were expecting a baby! The timing was not in our favor since our due date fell in the middle of my husband’s deployment to Afghanistan but as a military family we knew there was never a perfect time to start a family. We took this as a blessing and our baby boy helped keep us strong and connected during a stressful combat deployment. Not that I didn’t have a pity party for myself.  My entire pregnancy I had wished my husband could be there. From going to doctors appointments with me, to feeling the first kicks to running to the store for my crazy pregnancy cravings, I longed for my husband’s company. I sent weekly updates and pictures of my growing belly to keep Daddy connected. I held my head high when strangers would ask if my husband would be home for the birth and fought back tears when they gave me a sympathetic look and pat on the back. At night I would break down and cry, praying that my husband would return home safe to me and be able to meet our little miracle.

The minute I held my son for the first time, my husband called from Afghanistan. Our family was together. We didn’t have the typical hospital picture of the three of us physically together but we do have some pretty amazing pictures of my husband’s homecoming a couple months later. There are no words to describe the emotion I felt watching my 8-week-old son look up at his daddy for the first time.  We made it. We got through the deployment, my husband was home safe and we were finally a family. Being together erased the heartache of all we had missed.

Fast-forward to today, a year and a half later. I am pregnant with our second son, who is due any day now. We just moved to Virginia from California a few weeks ago where my husband is currently an instructor at an 8-week intensive school; a job that keeps him away from home 20-24 hours a day, including weekends.

I am so grateful my husband is not deployed but I hadn’t planned on going to my doctor’s appointments alone this time around. Well, I guess I’m not completely alone. I have a curious, energetic and sweet little 20 month old joining me who likes to pull up my shirt in public and show everyone his baby in Mommy’s belly. I am still feeling the baby move by myself and going out to get my own ice cream and potato chip pregnancy cravings.

And, I am not sure if I will be able to reach my husband when the time comes to go to the hospital. But I have to stay positive because there are just some things you have no control of. (In the military, that’s an understatement).

When all is said and done, I can’t let myself get down. Do I wish things were different and we could experience a “normal” pregnancy and delivery together? Absolutely. But I have a loving husband who works hard for his country and loves what he does. He provides for our family and we are blessed to have our healthy children. We may not be together as much as other “civilian” families but military families sure know how to make the most of the time we do have together.