Camo Wife Chronicles

A space where military life and motherhood collide.

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  • Coping with Deployment as a New Parent

    Just a couple of months after having our first baby, we were hit with the news no army spouse ever wants to hear: my husband was being deployed.

    Under normal circumstances, that alone would have been difficult. But with a newborn in my arms and my world already turned upside down, it felt devastating. We were still figuring out how to be parents together — how was I supposed to cope on my own?

    It wasn’t his fault, of course. He doesn’t get a say in these decisions. But fear has a way of twisting itself into frustration, and I found myself taking it out on him. I wasn’t just scared; I was overwhelmed by a deep sadness that settled over everything. This was supposed to be a joyful time for us. Our first baby. Our first milestones. Our first memories as a family. Suddenly, all of that felt like it had been ripped away.

    Instead of sharing those moments side by side, I’d be capturing them through a camera lens. Instead of tag-teaming the tough nights and celebrating the brilliant highs together, I’d be facing them alone. I was mourning the loss of the family moments we hadn’t even had yet.

    Decisions that should have been made as a pair now landed solely on my shoulders — decisions I’d make and then question endlessly. Was I doing it right? Was I messing something up? It was an added pressure I never anticipated in early motherhood.

    And layered on top of all of that were all the hormonal swings that come with postnatal life. It’s a perfect storm: exhaustion, responsibility, fear, and biology all colliding until you’re questioning every detail of your new parenting world.

    I’ve been navigating this new normal for a few months now. There have been unbelievable highs — the kind that only early motherhood can bring. The love you feel for this tiny human is indescribable. But running alongside those highs are moments of intense sadness and stress. I’m doing everything I can to be the best mother possible, yet the one person who brings out the best in me isn’t here.

    I know it might sound dramatic. There are far worse things happening in the world every day, and I’m incredibly lucky to have a supportive family around me. But even with all that perspective, I think I’m allowed to feel what I feel. I’m allowed to acknowledge the weight of this situation.

    And yes, there are financial positives that come with a British Army deployment. But I would hand back every penny if it meant my husband could come home tomorrow.

    – Your Camo Wife

  • The Unspoken Trauma of Emergency Caesareans

    Handwritten birth plan with natural birth preferences and baby booties

    We’ve all heard caesarean sections branded as the “easy way out” of labour. Reserved for those who are too lazy, or “too posh to push”. I haven’t had the pleasure of a natural birth — and now may never — but I cannot believe that a caesarean is in any way the easy route.

    Yes, you don’t go through contractions. You don’t have to push a small human out, and there’s no risk of tearing. But a caesarean is major abdominal surgery. The recovery is longer. You’re left with an open wound, vulnerable to infection, unable to feel your legs for hours afterwards. You’re told not to lift, to rest as much as possible, no driving for six weeks. And yet somehow you’re expected to look after a newborn at the same time.

    In recent years, I do think attitudes have started to shift. Maybe it’s because caesarean births are becoming more common. More people are experiencing them, realising the difficulty that comes with them, and speaking openly about their recovery. But what I don’t think we talk about enough is the trauma of an emergency caesarean.

    When it’s planned, you have time. You’re talked through the procedure. You can ask questions. You can mentally and physically prepare. But nothing prepares you for the moment you’re suddenly told your baby is in distress and needs to come out now.

    One minute you’re breathing through contractions, relatively calm. The next, you’re surrounded by ten medical professionals, all talking at once, reading risks at double speed like they’re reciting legal rights. You’re handed a form to sign with no time for questions because every second counts.

    Your brain is scrambling to process what’s happening — the danger your baby is in, the surgery you’re being rushed into. Then your partner is taken in a different direction while you’re wheeled away to be prepped for surgery. At the exact moment you need them most. You’re terrified, unsure whether the tiny life inside you is okay. Surrounded by people, yet completely alone.

    The doctors, nurses, and midwives are incredible. Each with their own role, moving around each other with calm, practised ease. For them, it’s just another day, another procedure. It’s what they’re trained for. But for me, it was the most frightening moment of my life.

    I carried the trauma of the birth for weeks. I felt compelled to tell my story to anyone who would listen. Mostly as a way of coming to terms with what happened. Maybe I was naïve in my birth prep — so focused on preparing for a natural birth that I didn’t give much thought to the possibility of a caesarean. But my birth story was written for me, completely out of my control. All those months I’d spent preparing myself for birth, yet here I was, thrown into a situation I was totally unprepared for.

    Is it okay to mourn the birth you didn’t get to have? I think it is. And I think we need to talk about it more.

    – Your Camo Wife

  • Third Trimester Routine – Labour Prep

    Trying to stay on top of third trimester prep is no small feat. Between social media, well-meaning friends, and every recent mum you meet, the list of “must-do’s” seems never-ending. It’s overwhelming, like a full-time job just to keep up with all the advice flying at you from every direction. Then, the moment you hear about something new, it sends you into a spiral wondering whether you’re doing enough.

    Honestly, who knows if any of it actually makes labour easier. Maybe I’m just another gullible victim of the social media influence. It does, however, help me believe I’m doing something to prepare my body, as well as giving me a focus during these final few weeks.

    I haven’t been religious about every item on the list, but here’s what I’ve been trying to incorporate into my third trimester routine:

    🚶‍♀️Walking

    Every midwife and doctor seem to agree that walking is one of the best forms of pregnancy exercise. Winter made it tricky to drag myself out into the cold, dark evenings. So I bought a walking pad for around £100, and it’s been a blessing. I do about 30 minutes of gentle walking most days, usually while watching TV. No need to leave the house, and it keeps me moving.

    🧘‍♀️Stretching & Yoga

    I haven’t been perfect, but I’ve managed most days. Social media swears by certain poses to help baby get into position, reduce tearing, and shorten labour. I can’t confirm any of that yet, but I do feel better afterwards, It eases some of the aches and gives me a sense of control, which is a win in itself.

    🧴Oil & Cream

    This one has been a daily ritual for me since around midway through pregnancy. It really helps with that tight, itchy feeling across my stretching belly. I use Bio Oil in the morning and Palmer’s stretch mark cream at night. It’s nothing fancy, but it works for me.

    🫣Perineal Massage

    I started this around 36 weeks after seeing it all over social media and hearing about it from my midwife. I do it most days after a shower (apparently the best time, when muscles are relaxed), for about five minutes. It’s awkward and gets harder as you grow, but if you’re comfortable, your partner can help. Uncertain whether it actually reduces tearing, but if it might, I’m willing to give it a go.

    🌬️Breathing Exercises

    I went to a hypnobirthing class led by one of the midwives from my antenatal group. I was sceptical, but I got a hefty discount, so I thought why not. The class itself didn’t blow me away, but the breathing recordings I came away with are genuinely helpful. I’ve been practising them now and again, hoping they’ll kick in when I need them. At the very least, they’re relaxing.

    🍬Dates

    I started eating 4–5 dates a day after reading they might help soften the cervix in preparation for labour. The advice says 5–6 a day is required, but once I realised how sugary they are, I decided that was too many. Now I eat them maybe three times a week, which might be pointless, but at least I do enjoy them.

    I know that labour has a mind of its own, and these little routines don’t guarantee anything. But they help me feel grounded, calmer, and a bit more in control during a time that’s full of unknowns. If nothing else, they’ve given me some comfort in the final stretch.

    – Your Camo Wife

  • Embracing Imperfection: My Nesting Experience

    According to social media, the nesting phase is a time for organisation, deep cleaning, and a whole lot of preparation. It’s a time to crack out the drawer dividers, label everything in sight, and design a cute little nursery even Pinterest would be envious of. So when I entered the third trimester, I was fully prepared to channel my inner Mrs Hinch and transform our house into the tidiest, most organised it has ever been.

    Unfortunately, that’s not quite how it’s going so far.

    Yes, there have been short-lived bursts of cleaning and the occasional flurry of organisation, but they’re quickly followed by multiple snack breaks and naps. Then comes the onslaught of panic about everything left to do before the baby arrives, ironically paired with absolutely zero motivation to do any of it. Instead, I’ve spent a great deal of time nagging my husband about small jobs that haven’t been thought about in twelve months but are now, apparently, critically urgent. Because we cannot possibly bring a baby home to this chaos.

    I envy the people who seem to have it all sorted. Yes, we have the essentials (we think), but the aesthetic nursery isn’t finished, the baby clothes aren’t neatly organised into size order, and there isn’t a single pre-filled nappy caddy in sight.

    Does this make me feel inadequate as a mother already? In some ways, yes. I know babies don’t need half the things social media insists we do, yet it still makes you wonder why you aren’t as prepared as everyone else seems to be.

    Deep down, I know that no one really knows what they’re doing the first time around. We’re all just preparing in our own way, fully aware that no amount of organisation can actually prepare you for the life shift that’s coming.

    I want to enjoy these last few weeks of resting, nesting, and slowly preparing mentally and physically for the new arrival. Instead, I feel this overwhelming pressure to be doing more, to be more prepared, to somehow have it all together. Maybe that’s normal for a first-time mum. Maybe it’s social media influence. Or maybe it’s just the serial overthinker in me creating unnecessary chaos.

    Either way, I know the baby won’t care if the nursery drawers aren’t colour‑coded. I just need to keep reminding myself that.

    – Your Camo Wife

  • When is the best time to begin maternity leave?

    At what point in pregnancy should you start maternity leave? It’s one of those questions everyone seems to have an opinion on. It makes sense that someone with a physically demanding job might finish earlier than someone who works from home and rolls out of bed 5 minutes before the working day starts.

    At our recent antenatal classes, a midwife suggested that everyone should stop working at 35 weeks. At the time, I thought that seemed unnecessarily early. My job isn’t physically demanding, I can work from home occasionally, and I’d always heard it was better to “save the leave for the other end” so you get more time with the baby.

    But now that I’m approaching my final couple of working weeks, I’m starting to understand exactly what she meant.

    Even though I work in an office, my 45-minute to an hour commute each way suddenly feels like a trek across the country. And at this stage of pregnancy, you become tired simply from existing. You don’t need to exert much energy before it feels like you’ve run half a marathon. Afternoon naps become a lifestyle. Everyday tasks feel like hard work, and work itself honestly just becomes an inconvenience.

    I mentally checked out weeks ago. I’m still showing up in body, but my brain is 90% baby-related thoughts. I’m half keeping a mental checklist of things we still need to buy, and half worrying about whether the baby has moved enough today. Meanwhile, the idea of focusing on spreadsheets or emails feels laughably unrealistic.

    I always imagined the final weeks before maternity leave would be a gentle wind-down. Handing things over, tying up loose ends, and slowly detaching from responsibility. Instead, it feels like everyone is trying to squeeze every last drop out of me before I disappear for a year. I’ve had more stress in the last few weeks than I’ve had in months. Even though I care far less than I used to, I’m counting down the days until I can finally step away and switch off.

    I’m ready to focus on myself, my wellbeing, and the huge life shift that’s about to happen. Which brings me back to that midwife’s advice. Maybe she was right. Maybe I listened too much to the people saying “maximise your time with the baby”. Maybe I underestimated how much I’d need (and deserve) a few quiet weeks before the beautiful chaos begins.

    Surely we should cherish these last moments of calm. We should allow ourselves time to unwind, nest, rest, and prepare without outside stress. If that means finishing work a little earlier, I don’t think I’d regret it for a second.

    – Your Camo Wife

  • Packing My Hospital Bag

    It’s the question that’s been haunting me for weeks: “Have you packed your bag yet?” Every time I say “no,” I’m met with that sympathetic (but slightly disapproving) look, followed by the inevitable, “You really should get it packed.”

    Ironically, not having it packed makes me anxious, yet every time I sit down to actually start, I feel completely overwhelmed. A vicious cycle. Surely I’m not the only one who feels like this. Or am I?

    I have most things ready to go (well what I think are the essentials, from what numerous Google searches tell me), yet physically putting them into a bag feels like crossing some invisible line. As if the moment the zip closes, everything becomes real.

    Not the growing bump, not the tiny human doing somersaults in my stomach, not the house slowly filling with newborn essentials. Not even the fact that I have a set date for maternity leave and have been telling everyone that work issues will soon be “future me’s problem.”

    No, apparently it’s the hospital bag that flips the anxiety switch.

    And even though I know I’m probably overpacking, there’s still that nagging fear that I’ve forgotten something important. Women have been giving birth for thousands of years, and here I am panicking about whether eight pairs of big pants will be enough, or if I should throw in some disposable underwear just in case.

    Does it get easier with each pregnancy? Or is it simply the fear of the unknown? I’m guessing it’s the latter. But every labour is different. One woman can have five children and experience five completely different births. Maybe the fear never fully disappears, but instead you just learn to accept the unknown and trust that you’ll handle whatever comes your way.

    And at the end of it all, you know that the moment you hold that tiny baby in your arms, every worry, every list, every overpacked bag will feel worth it. For now, I’m trying to see the hospital bag not as something daunting, but as a small, practical step toward meeting my precious little bundle.

    – Your Camo Wife

  • Yoga Benefits During Pregnancy: My Personal Experience

    Like me, you may have heard all about the potential benefits of doing yoga during pregnancy, like easing aches, helping with breathing, and supposedly keeping you calm and collected when labour finally arrives. So naturally, I’ve thrown myself into some evening yoga in the hope that it might soothe some of the delightful array of pregnancy aches. The ultimate goal, of course, is that it will somehow make the whole labour experience a little less traumatising for my body. But does it actually work? I can’t answer the labour part just yet, but here’s what I’ve experienced so far.

    Before I go any further, when I say “I’m doing yoga in the evenings,” what I really mean is: I’m sprawled across the living-room floor on my yoga mat, following a very lovely YouTube lady who insists I’m “doing great” and reminds me how “empowering” my body is. You might have a completely different experience in a real, face to face class, and it’s probably more advisable for beginners so someone can help with posture. But personally, I enjoy doing it on my own schedule. Plus, I’d much rather be rolling around on the floor in the privacy of my own home.

    I initially looked around for some gentle daily pregnancy-specific sessions. Keep in mind that not all stretches will be safe during pregnancy, so selecting classes that are designed specifically for pregnancy is a safer option. Some sessions are longer, around 45 minutes to an hour, and some are much shorter. I’ve been doing around 20-minute sessions most evenings. The stretches seem to cover everything from back, legs, hips, and chest. I’m really not the most flexible person in the world, but I can manage most of it, even if some positions are slightly tricker for me than others.

    What I have found more difficult is the breathing techniques. I can’t seem to get the hang of controlling my breathing at certain points, which is ironically one of the most important parts of labour. I’m hoping that will come with more practice, though. While I started out sticking to the standard stretches with no equipment, there are some sessions that utilise different types of equipment, so if you’d prefer to have the option of variety in your sessions, some equipment like yoga blocks and straps might come in handy.

    After a few weeks of using no equipment at all, I decided to invest in a yoga exercise ball (no need to opt for a more expensive birthing ball as they all do the same thing) to see if that made a difference. I would definitely recommend getting one of these. There are so many useful daily exercises that can be done with these, that not only help relieve a lot of the daily pains, but also help with labour preparation. Even just sitting on the ball watching tv forces you to sit in a more upright position, rather than slouching on the sofa. Many women tend to opt for these when in labour too, showing just how useful they can be at relieving pressure.

    I have definitely noticed that I always feel better after a session. Less sluggish, slightly stronger, and just more like my pre-pregnancy self. After taking time off from all exercises over Christmas, I also noticed more aches and twinges appeared than when I was practicing regularly. So, while I can’t claim it’s transformed my sleep or mental wellbeing (though I know plenty of people swear it does), it definitely seems to help with those day-to-day pregnancy aches.

    Exercise in pregnancy is good for you in general, so even if it doesn’t turn you into a serene, pain-free birthing pro, you’re still getting something out of it. One piece of advice I would give to anyone thinking of taking up yoga in pregnancy, which I’m sure all yoga instructors would repeat, is to listen to your body. I’m aware I’m a complete novice, so I don’t try and push myself and my body too much. There are some stretches I can do quite comfortably, whilst others I’m still slowly working my way into. At the end of the day, every pregnancy and every body is different. So focus on yourself and what your body needs and I don’t think you’ll go far wrong.

    Your Camo Wife

  • Virgin River vs. Sullivan’s Crossing: An Honest Review

    I’ve just finished watching the third season of Sullivan’s Crossing, and having already binged all six seasons of Virgin River, I couldn’t help but compare the two. My first impression, only a few episodes into Sullivan’s Crossing, was that it feels like a poor man’s version of Virgin River. The similarities are almost comical, and the fact that both shows are adapted from books by the same author somehow makes it even stranger. It’s as if one of the books was thrown into ChatGPT and prompted to “Change the names, tweak a few backstories, and hope no one notices.”

    While there are no actual links between the shows, they both follow the same basic recipe: a red‑haired female lead (a medical professional, naturally) flees a troubled past and escapes to a remote, picturesque location. Her medical expertise becomes central to the plot as she inevitably saves the lives of various locals. She’s guided by a handful of older, wiser townsfolk while navigating a strained relationship with her father. Along the way, we get alcoholism, pregnancy trauma, multiple medical emergencies, and, of course, a rugged small‑town love interest she’s destined to eventually fall for.

    I was genuinely excited to start Sullivan’s Crossing, mostly because of the cast. Scott Patterson (forever Luke from Gilmore Girls in my eyes) and Chad Michael Murray (hello, teenage One Tree Hill crush) were big draws for me. But despite the promising lineup, I found myself a bit underwhelmed by the characters and storylines. The acting veers into Hallmark‑movie territory more often than I’d like, the kind where you find yourself cringing at the deadpan delivery and wondering if the chemistry was left behind in a deleted scene.

    Virgin River, for all its flaws, at least gives its characters a bit more depth. Sullivan’s Crossing, on the other hand, feels like it’s working with a half‑charged battery. The chemistry between Maggie and Cal is mediocre. There’s not really anything resembling a spark between them. The same goes for Sydney and Rafe, who radiate the energy of two people who met in the carpark five minutes before filming.

    And then there’s Cal’s hair. Across three seasons, it evolves more dramatically than some of the actual plotlines. I know there are fans of the longer locks, but by season three I was practically begging someone to take a pair of secateurs to it. Don’t get me wrong, Cal is still a slightly better‑looking male lead than Jack in Virgin River (in my opinion), but the man has more potential. Let him live up to it.

    I’m not saying that Virgin River is without it’s testing characters. Hope becomes more annoying as the seasons go on, and a few other characters (Connie, Lizzie, Charmaine to name a few) tested my patience more than once. But despite that, I still found myself hooked after a couple of episodes. Sullivan’s Crossing never quite managed that. It became more of a show I put on in the background whilst doing housework — pleasant enough, but not something that demanded my full attention.

    Both series have been renewed for another season, and I’ll keep watching both. Partly out of loyalty, and partly because I’ve already invested too many hours to quit now. But if I’m being honest, the cliff‑hanger at the end of Sullivan’s Crossing season three might be the only thing dragging me back for season four.

    Your Camo Wife

  • Christmas, Baby brain, and Looking Ahead

    Christmas is my favourite time of year, closely followed by the moment it’s over when I can lie down, eat leftovers and not step foot inside a supermarket for a week. Don’t get me wrong, I adore it. The lights, the food, the atmosphere, the excuse to be excessively indulgent. This year, however, Christmas arrived hand in hand with a certain level of stress and chaos.

    There was the panic of buying gifts for an ever-growing family, the logistical nightmare of fitting in visits with everyone, and the sudden realisation that December is apparently the only acceptable time to catch up with friends that you haven’t seen all year. Then there’s the supermarket… attempting a food shop anywhere near the big day requires an Olympic level amount of patience, something I unfortunately do not possess. On the bright side, it’s the one time of year you can eat your bodyweight in chocolate for breakfast without anyone questioning your life choices. Because why not? It’s Christmas.

    This was my first ever Christmas whilst pregnant, and aside from being unable to enjoy a festive tipple (tragic), I imagine it would normally feel quite magical. Instead, with an ongoing house renovation (still not complete), and my due date creeping closer at an alarming speed, the festive feeling didn’t quite hit as usual. The house felt more like a building site than a home, and any attempts at cleaning or nesting were completely futile. I’d start a task full of motivation, only to get distracted, tired, or forget entirely what I was doing in the first place.

    On the brighter side, I enjoyed a long-overdue extended break from work over the holiday. Which was probably for the best, because I’m not sure my baby brain could have handled much more to think about. Yes, baby brain. Or pregnancy brain, as it’s otherwise known. A phenomenon I was once naïve enough to believe was a myth. Just another old wives’ tale people liked to exaggerate. How wrong I was.

    The forgetfulness, the fogginess. The inability to make even the simplest of decisions without feeling overwhelmed. I’ve walked into rooms and upstairs more times than I care to admit, only to stand there wondering why I’m there and what day it is. It’s actually quite impressive how little information my brain now retains on a daily basis.

    How I’ve managed to bumble my way through a day job over the past few months, whilst being unable to focus on a task for longer than a hyperactive toddler, is beyond me. So, if a pregnant woman you know does something odd and casually blames ‘baby brain’, please don’t question it. Baby brain is real, ruthless, and absolutely to blame.

    Naturally, I’ve found myself thinking a lot about how different next year will look. We should have a proper home by then, one where we can spend quality time together in the lead up to Christmas, and one where we can actually decorate without navigating around tools and dust sheets. I know renovations during pregnancy are fairly common, but having just lived through it, I wouldn’t be in any rush to repeat the experience, nor recommend it. And certainly not during Christmas time. Looking back now, I’m not entirely sure what we were thinking. I may decide in a few months that the stress was worth it, but, at the moment, that feels like a stretch.

    Though, above all, our home will have a brand-new addition. One who will make Christmas more special than it has ever been. So, while I reminisce about a Christmas that didn’t quite have the sparkle it usually brings, I can happily say I can’t wait for the next one. I can’t wait to spoil a child who won’t yet understand what Christmas is all about. I can’t wait to see the wonder in their eyes at the lights, the wrapping paper and the joy of it all. And I can’t wait to create new traditions as a family of three.

    For now, I’m counting down the days to maternity leave while mentally listing everything left to do before the baby arrives, having been reminded countless times already since new year that the baby is now due this year.

    Before the final 9-5 slog ahead of maternity leave, I’ll settle for leftover chocolate, dodgy DIY (on the husband’s part of course), and the promise that next Christmas may just involve less stress, fewer trips to the supermarket, and a whole lot more magic.

    Your Camo Wife

  • The Wall of Focker: A Comedic Sentiment

    So, after my last slightly heartfelt post, I thought I would share something slightly more comical.

    You’ve seen the film Meet the Parents, right? Well, if you haven’t… I’m not angry, I’m just disappointed. I suggest you add it to your watch list ASAP. Anyway, for those that have seen it you’ll know the famous “Wall of Gaylord” the parents create for their son, Gaylord Focker. This is essentially a shrine to their son and all his accolades, mainly incredibly embarrassing ones, like “Well done for participating” medals. I’ll put a picture below to jog your memory.

    Now, my husband’s name isn’t Gaylord (thankfully), nor is my last name Focker (no words necessary), but my husband has recently had his own Wall of Gaylord erected, which we lovingly call the Wall of Focker. His parents have collected numerous photos, medals, certificates, trophies, and other paraphernalia over the years, and have very proudly (think Dustin Hoffman’s face above) erected a similar shrine to their son. It’s full of love, and I know my husband appreciates it, but bear in mind, he’s not their only child, just the only child with a shrine. I am glad of this blatant favouritism though, because it means the accolades my husband has collected throughout his army career have a place to be displayed, and it’s not in my home. His Wall of Focker can live happily at his parents’ house, proudly glowing like the world’s most chaotic art installation, while my home stays blissfully neutral and free of rogue camouflage-patterned memorabilia.

    Here’s the thing: I love my husband dearly. I love that he’s achieved so much. I love that he has more certificates than I have matching mugs. But I also love that my walls do not currently look like the foyer of a military museum curated by someone with a deep affection for brass polish. Does that make me selfish? Possibly. I have no doubt that there are lots of military spouses that are proud to display their partner’s achievements in every corner of their home. Unfortunately, that’s just not me. I do occasionally feel a huge wave of guilt that I’m not one of those people. But then I remind myself that he knows I’m so incredibly proud of him. He knows I support him and his career, even through my lack of enthusiasm for decorative memorabilia. Shouldn’t that be enough?

    And yet, I can already see exactly how this goes. One day, our child (still lovingly cooking away in my womb) will come home from school with a “Well Done for Trying” sticker, and you know what I’ll do?

    I will lose my mind with pride.

    I will slap that sticker on the fridge like it’s a Nobel Prize.

    I will send a photo of it to everyone I know.

    I will collect and store all of these seemingly insignificant achievements.  

    I will, in short, become a Wall of Focker maker.

    Maybe that’s what parenthood is — collecting the bits of your child’s life, even the ridiculous ones, and displaying them like they’re rare historical artefacts. Even if your child once came last in a swimming race or won a participation ribbon for a sport they actively hated. Maybe it’s not about the achievement at all, but the journey (and the snacks you bribed them with along the way).

    So, while my husband’s parents might have beaten us to it with their lovingly curated shrine, I’m starting to understand the instinct.

    Will our child have their own wall one day? Probably.

    Will it be less embarrassing? Absolutely not.

    Will I pretend otherwise? Not even a bit.

    But until then, I will proudly maintain my clutter-free aesthetic at home… and leave the glory, the dusting, and the Dustin Hoffman expressions to my in-laws.

    Your Camo Wife