When I took that first pregnancy test, I thought I saw that little plus sign. Maybe my eyes were playing tricks on me, but I showed it to my husband and screamed at him. I had my second anxiety attack ever. I was collapsed on the ground bawling and screaming at him. I didn’t want another child. Especially with him, which is exactly was I said, rather loudly to him.
I didn’t want to believe it. I really didn’t. And I refused to for days, until my fourth pregnancy test. Up until that point, I had been taking those little plus sign was and I finally broke down and bought the digital. And it read: Pregnant.
I had told Max that I was going to stay with my husband. I could maybe do one child, but two on my own? No. Plus, it killed me every time I walked by my son’s room, and the sentence that was on his door since we designed the nursery:
All because two people fell in love.
Fuck that. But, my son loved his daddy. I didn’t want to be that monster to separate them. Would I ever trust my husband again? Fuck no. But, I had a good life. An easy one. I adored my son. Which is sad, because I resented the baby I was currently carrying. Not that it was the baby’s fault, but I felt trapped. And it was my own fault. My dumbass missed my six week appointment. You know, the one where they tell you it’s EASY AS FUCK to get pregnant after you had a baby and didn’t get on birth control. We had been using the pull-out method, stupid I know. But hey, it worked until we had made the conscious decision to have a child. This time, not so much.
So I began putting the pieces back together. It took a few months for me to start to move on and try to repair my marriage. I had to accept this pregnancy and this life. I had to stay committed. I didn’t feel I had a choice.
It was a rough first trimester and second. Apparently, your body needs to have a break from babies for two years. I waited two months. The pain was unbearable and I was getting much bigger, quicker.
What really changed the game was when I went in for my second ultrasound. We were having a little girl. I had already picked the name out, a name that I had loved since I was 12. My husband didn’t get a choice in the matter.
I’d like to say everything went back to normal, but it didn’t. Try as I did, I tried to stay in love with my husband. But every time I looked at him, I saw a liar, a cheater, and a life-ruiner. He may not have physically slept with her, but I just couldn’t get over the fact that he put us all on the line, knowing full well that he would ruin our family. Just for a Facebook thing. The fact that he sacrificed something he wasn’t even getting any physical enjoyment out of, but emotional, killed me. And I had read all of it. It sickened me.
I tried to be happy. And at times I was. I hit a point where I finally stopped checking his shit. I just didn’t care anymore. Looking back, I thought at the time I was finally starting to trust him again. Now I know, I was falling out of love with him. I was completely losing interest in the man I had married. I wasn’t looking elsewhere, but I was simply living. That’s all.