Salute to Spouses Blog

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The Dutiful Wife - Just Part of Military Life

A few years ago, when my husband re-enlisted, I was told that I was to attend the ceremony and be awarded some certificate, simply for being married to him.

You see, in the Navy, when a sailor re-enlists, his wife also gets recognized for her contribution and sacrifice.

Which seems nice, unless, you’re eight weeks pregnant, with a 1-year-old, in July, at an outdoor pavilion where the temperature seemed to be about 135 degrees.  Standing outside in my first trimester during the heat made me sway.  Then puke as my knees buckled. 

It wasn’t pretty.

But I went.  I mustered up the courage and a dress and a surreptitious barf bag and made it there, miserable though I was.

Because it was expected of me. 

While I don’t normally care about some such silly tradition, I knew it was important to my husband and his command.  It was my “duty” as a milspouse, so I fulfilled it.  Though not without a little groaning and moaning and promises of husbandly foot rubs when we finally got home.

I’d forgotten about that hot, pregnant day in July, mostly.

Until I saw Princess Kate of Great Britain standing in front of the world in a white and yellow dress, bra, heels, and some kind of magical undergarment that stifles the ever-lovely natural laws of post-partum bleeding, presenting a baby she had pushed out of her nether regions mere hours before.

Why? Because as the princess, that’s her job.  It’s what’s expected.

Now, expectations aside, I wasn’t wearing pants after a watermelon came barreling out of my body.  And, if it was white and within a 10-foot radius of me, I bled on it. 

And a bra? Please.  No way.

So I have to give the girl some credit. She looked better than I looked on my wedding day.

But then I caught the sidelong glances at Prince William and the classy albeit a little tired smile.  And I realized it.

She hates this.

She’s up there because she has to be, not because she wants to be.

Heck, no woman would want to do that the same day she had a child.

But just like me all those years ago in the July heat, she did what she did because she married a man, and with that marriage came certain expectations.

Now, expectations aside, I clearly wasn’t cut out to be royalty.  I couldn’t even walk straight after my 9-pound baby bruised my tailbone during delivery.  I would have likely told the royal family to take their expectations and shove it, posted a photo of the new baby on Facebook and took a nap.

But still, I get it.  She knew this was part of the gig, just like I knew that galas with a dress code, where I am expected to stand when pinning promotions on my husband also matters. You do what’s expected, and then you go back to being you.

And for Princess Kate’s sake, I really hope that the real her is resting somewhere in a big T-shirt and no pants. She deserves it.                                                         

 

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