Sometimes, I remember. I remember what I first felt. And I hate myself for it.
I remember seeing the 2 lines telling me I was pregnant and swearing. Breaking down into tears. I remember thinking my life was over. Nothing was going to be the same. That I had brought shame to my family. That everyone would judge me.
A week after, I was working at an event my company was hosting. I was running all over making copies, doing backgrounds, filtering applicants to the right section. Suddenly, my stomach felt like it was being torn. I sat down for a few minutes before making up an excuse to leave. On the way to my car, I had to stop and rest 3 times. I finally sat in the driver seat and burst into tears. I thought I was having a miscarriage. And I thought it was my fault. Suddenly, I wanted that baby more than anything.
I called the doctor’s office. They told me there isn’t much they can do at 7 weeks along and to rest and take a bath. I curled on the couch in the fetal position. For 24 hours.
Finally, I started feeling better. I hadn’t bled. The baby was fine. But I realized at that moment that I wanted the baby more than I ever knew.
But you know what I dislike? That I missed out. I never got to experience that excitement of seeing the 2 lines and being happy. At my first baby appointment? The doctor brought up abortion. When I told my family? Shock.. When I told my friends? They all said “sorry”.
No one said congratulations. No one jumped for joy.
I didn’t get big fast, so I actually hid my pregnancy from public view for quite a while. I never had anyone ask me if I was pregnant until I was over 24 weeks along. That was the first person to congratulate me right away.
I didn’t relax or indulge in yummy treats. I worked my ass off at 2 jobs, 1 was waitressing 3 nights a week. Anyone who has waitressed knows how much running is involved. I was afraid of getting fat and being judged, so I didn’t cave into the cookie craving or eat ice cream. I remember going to a restaurant one night and ordering grilled chicken and steamed veggies while my friends got pizza. I remember the doctor telling me I needed to start gaining weight, and to take it easy.
I remember hearing my friends talking about wearing “fake wedding rings” since they could no longer wear theirs. And wondered if that meant they were judging me. And why it bothered them so much to have a ring. One time, a friend caught my eye while saying that and said , “it’s just because I like wearing a ring”. But I know that isn’t true.
I wondered what people said when I wasn’t around. I hate being judged.
Even now, I feel guilty. It breaks my heart when HJ talks about other people’s dads. He hasn’t asked about his, but he is starting to get it.
I wish I could have had a fun pregnancy. Enjoying it and savoring in my cute belly. Loving watching it grow. Jumping up and down when I saw those 2 lines. Smiling as I told everyone the news. Having a relaxing pregnancy and feeling on top of the world.
And since I didn’t, I feel guilty. Like I took something away from my son. Like I took something away from myself.
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