American Sniper - Boekje Pienter

248/439
had a chance to bond. Newborns are just a bundle of needs—feed
them, clean them, get them to rest. Now he had a personality. He was
crawling. He was more of a person. I’d seen him growing up in the
photos Taya had sent me, but this was more intense.
He was my son.
We’d lie on the floor in our pajamas and play together. He’d crawl
all over me and I’d boost him up and carry him all around. Even the
simplest things—like him touching my face—were a joy.
But the transition from war to home was still a shock. One day,
we’d been fighting. The next, we’d crossed the river to al-Taqaddum
Airbase (known to us as TQ) and started back for the States.
War one day; peace the next.
Every time you come home, it’s weird. Especially in California.
The simplest things can upset you. Take traffic. You’re driving on the
road, everything’s crowded, it’s craziness. You’re still thinking
IEDs—you see a piece of trash and you swerve. You drive aggressively
toward other drivers, because that’s the way you do it in Iraq.
I would shut myself in for about a week. I think that’s where Taya
and I started having problems.
Being parents for the first time, we had the disagreements everyone
has about children. Co-sleeping, for instance—Taya had my son sleep
with her in a co-sleeper in the bed while I was gone. When I came
home, I wanted to change that. We disagreed quite a bit on that. I
thought he should be in his own crib in his own room. Taya saw it as
depriving her of her closeness with him. She thought we should transition
him gradually.