I feel cheated. Granted, it’s mostly my own fault, but I’d like to bitch about it, nonetheless.
I’m sure people are sick of reading this, but I’m married to a truly wonderful guy. The ex? Not so wonderful. While I was pregnant with our son, he spent his free time parading around with a nameless, skinny, blonde girl he’d met at work. While I ballooned up and felt physically like dirt, he went out on dates with his little “friend.” After a few of these, “just friends hanging out” episodes, the ex proclaimed he wasn’t sure if he loved me any more.
Feeling completely stupid and about six months pregnant, I went and crashed at my parents’ apartment for a couple of weeks. I was so heartsick, I felt like I was going to die. I could not imagine how a person could abandon someone when they were so vulnerable. The only thing that helped me through such a dark time was imagining holding my baby in my arms.
Still, even if the ex didn’t want me, I was determined to include him in the pregnancy. During the ultrasound appointment, he kept staring at his watch. Apparently, the ultrasound was cutting into his lunch plans with his “friend.” As soon as it was over, he rushed out of the appointment at breakneck speed.
I spent the next couple of months trying to figure out what the hell to do, feeling completely alone. I was sick, stressed-out, and heartbroken. Not a very nice way to spend your pregnancy, I assure you. Finally, at the 11th hour, the ex decided he made a mistake and wanted to get back together. Being the desperate, lonely, scared fool that I was, I took him back.
As you can see, I don’t have fond memories of my pregnancy. Most of it was punctuated with sadness, fear, and heartbreak. Luckily, I managed to get a great kid out of the arrangement, so that’s a good consolation prize. But I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to have a baby with my current husband. I can picture him being helpful and attentive, worrying about my morning sickness and nausea. I can see him at childbirth education classes, listening intently. I’m positive he’d make sure the house was stocked with whole-wheat pita bread and hummus for me. And I guarantee you he would insist that I get enough rest while he painted the nursery. But that’s not going to happen.