WE HAVE A RETURN DATE.
And I cried. He told me late one night, when we were able to talk, and I couldn't sleep half the night.
He's coming home.
It's a thought I haven't really let myself think. It's been too crippling, too huge, to ever gaze at large portions of time.
Of course, he's always been "coming home someday" - but, I've been wary of counting days. Seems like it just slows time even more, when you do that. And my Little One has no appreciation of time; I mean, if there's even a 30 second delay between me suggesting that she drink/eat, and when the food actually appears, she comes unglued. So... we function in the short-term around here.
But now. He's coming home. And sooner than I'd braced for. Right on schedule. (When does that ever happen?!)
I totally used today's entire morning naptime/productivity window to order homecoming supplies. And I cried. And I stretched my arms and legs and toes and fingers obsessively, to try to ease the crazy, nervous excitement in my body.
And then, I started worrying that something would happen to him on his journey home. Heh. Naturally.
But, we still went to the Commissary and bought ingredients for pot roast. And suddenly became very, very productive.
Morale just rose, like, fifty points.
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