Terminal 5
If you ever want to scope out a cavalcade of stunning beauties at the airport, go no further than the International terminal. And I'm not just talking about the asian girls, ...but the middle eastern, Itallian, Brazilian, Sweedish, and Spanish girls. Lots of Spanish girls.It's a nice distraction.
Terminal 5 has two exits through which all international arrivals are filtered, exit A and exit B. Each time I've taken the flight my wife is on, I have exited through exit A. However, on this trip, she will have to go through some sort of immigration processing (I imagine), so that could re-route her to exit B. She's over 7 months pregnant and is carrying 4 suitcases, so I don't really want her wandering around looking for me.
Fortunately the information desk has tv screens that show people coming through each exit. If I have to, I can just watch the screens and hope to see her.
For reasons I discussed yesterday, this distraction is also not unwelcome.
It's not unwelcome because I still haven't shaken this weird feeling. It's not nervousness, but it is causing nervousness. I'm nervous because this feeling is not something I'm used to. It's like going to UPS and picking up your new life. It feels even weirder than that sounds. Not many people start a new life at a definite moment between dropping off old clothes at Goodwill, fueling up the car, and getting groceries.
So, I'm kind of like a dog in unfamiliar surroundings. My ears are up, my hair is up, and nothing looks right to me.
And and and, ...there are so many questions that no one can answer. Here it is 10 minutes before she lands and I don't know what life will be like tomorrow, or next week, or two months from now when the baby arrives. But the wick is lit, and without-a-doubt bricks will fall and glass will break and dust will rise. The only question is where and when and how, ...and will we survive? Will I fail as a father, or husband, or man? Will I fail my family?
I've never had to be a man before, much less a father or husband. Tragedies will come, heartache will come, disappointment will come, and I am no longer insulated in the sweet selfishness and materialistic shoulderpads of singlehood. I'm exposed.
And there is so much to worry about, ...so much depending on me.
I could use a drink, but I had my chance. I could have gone over to the bar and gawked at the cute bartendress, but I decided to write instead. And it hasn't helped. A beer would have helped.
Let's call that lesson #1 of married life.
I can't wait for lesson #2.
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