In which I condense nine months of pregnancy into one rather long blog post

This is the post I have been most excited about writing, while simultaneously dreading it – I am writing about my pregnancy.  This post will detail things I have never, ever told anyone else because I’ve never wanted to say the words aloud – when I have chosen to remember these events, it’s been late at night while I am lying in bed with sleep eluding me.   This was hands-down the worst time of my life and looking back I am so ashamed of the person I was.  Even now I am tearing up thinking about it because with all my other faults, there has never, ever been a time in my life I was ashamed of myself.  So, here goes… 

After my workshop ended and I found out I was pregnant, I started waitressing at the Biscuit again.  I have gone back a few summers because honestly the money is really great – I would make more money working there full time than I do teaching.  It was there that I saw Geno for the first time. He was having a meeting with some girls from TJM (likely telling them they were going to hell for some reason or another).  At this point no one in TJM really knew what had happened, so they were happy to see me. During the course of talking to Geno and the girls I kept a huge smile on my face.  I talked about how great my life was and inquired about how they were all doing before excusing myself and returning to the kitchen, at which point I promptly went to the dishwashing area and started crying.  I couldn’t stop – at this point I hadn’t cried much about everything and it was like once I opened myself up to it, there was no turning back.  The poor dishwasher was so concerned.  When I finally was able to speak I chose to merely say a guy was out there that was really mean to me.  The dishwasher was flabbergasted and said “who could be mean to you?  You’re one of the nicest people I’ve ever met.”  His comments made me laugh and his kind words were enough to make me pull myself together.  I spent the rest of the time avoiding the area Geno was sitting in.

At this point in time my sister and I were preparing to move from the apartment we had lived in since my second year of college to a townhouse across town.  The townhouse was significantly larger, but we had to be out by the last day of July and couldn’t move into our new place until the 5^th of August, which meant we had to move all our stuff into a storage unit.  Packing up the apartment that had been our home for so many years (over six!) and moving into a storage unit kept me from having to deal with my feelings.  I had briefly considered abortion, but at that point in my life I was completely pro-life.  I was one of those obnoxious people that pushed my beliefs about the matter onto anyone who would listen and could never, ever understand why anyone would even consider it.  So, I ultimately decided I wouldn’t go that route.  It was a hard choice for me -- much harder than I thought it would be.  I honestly had always assumed it wasn’t an option I would even consider.  I decided against it not because I viewed it as murder or any other extreme line of thinking, but rather because every single person I knew who had had one lived to regret it.  I didn’t want to always wonder what my baby would look like, what type of person it would be, etc.  I figured having a baby as single mom would be super difficult and stressful, but having an abortion and regretting it would be unbearable.

So, I went about my moving business, then I went to Cedar Key for a few days, and then moved into my new apartment.  While I was packing I started watching NCIS reruns and got really into it, so I purchased some of the DVDs.  Once I moved into my new apartment I would spend my whole day sitting in the dark, in my PJs, watching NCIS on my laptop.  There were days I ate nothing and didn’t even leave my bed until I knew my sister was going to be home soon and didn’t want to deal with her judging my behavior. Once I ran out of NCIS I just laid in my bed, in my PJs, crying all day.  In hindsight this was obviously a serious problem, but at the time I didn’t realize anything was out of the ordinary.  My nights were all spent on the phone with S fighting.  I wanted to do adoption and he wouldn’t even entertain the idea.  He told me he wanted the baby and it was going to grow up hearing the story of us so the baby wouldn’t repeat our mistakes.  I commented I didn’t want my baby to hear about the First Assembly story because I didn’t want the baby to think that its mom was a prostitute.  S told me that the baby needed to know my character and what type of person I was.  We would yell at each other – my sister texted and beeped in many nights because even though my room was upstairs and I had my fan going and she was downstairs she could still hear us fighting. He was obnoxiously cruel and would say such odd things – including telling me he hoped my baby hated Disney.  I mean really? What does that have to do with anything? Just another example of how odd and weird some of the things were.  I preferred odd and weird to the alternative, but it was still not fun.

It was the same routine for a few weeks. Stay in the dark all day crying and fight with S at night.  I don’t know why he kept calling me every night to fight with me and I also don’t know why I answered.  I was so scared of him I didn’t even tell him where I was living. As I sit here, I realize I was not the most rational person – why answer?  I have no insights into my reasoning – I haven’t the faintest idea what I was thinking. 

The week before school started I knew something had to change.  I called an old friend from high school, Eliza, whom I had known since I was literally two years old. She came over in the middle of the night and I told her everything.  I also told her I was considering abortion again.  She listened to me and told me she would support me in whatever decision I decided.  After she left S and I had another fight and I made a decision – I couldn’t live my whole life fighting like this.  So, I decided I was going to have the abortion.

I called Eliza the next day and she rearranged her schedule, found a sitter for her kid, and picked me up to take me to have the abortion.  It was across town and the clinic shared the name with my doctor’s office, which I found amusing.  I checked in and was called back within minutes.  They went through the process with me – what would happen – and then what we would tell people happened.  I was going to receive a note from them saying I came in with bleeding and eventually had a miscarriage. Perfect.  No one would have to know the truth, especially since the names matched up.  I signed all the appropriate paperwork and went back to the room to have my procedure.  I was feeling so much relief at the idea of not having any ties to S and not having to fight with him every day for the rest of my life.  After I sat down, the woman hooked me up to an ultrasound machine along with a few others, at which point I could see the baby and hear it’s heart beating.  She then said she had to go do something and left for fifteen whole minutes.  It was in this room, hooked up to the machine, and watching the baby that I realized I couldn’t go through with it.  When she came back, I said I had changed my mind, and she smiled.  I have no idea that was her intentions when she left.  I don’t know if that’s common practice or what, but it was definitely her hope.  When I checked out I didn’t have to pay anything, so Eliza and I left.  I apologized for wasting Eliza’s time, but of course she didn’t view it like that. 

So, that’s how close I was to an abortion – had the lady not left the room with me hooked up to the machines, I would have gone through with it.  I was surer about the abortion than I was about the marriage and we all know how the marriage turned out. So, I went home and that night when S tried called, I simply didn’t answer.  I still cried the next day, but I had taken a baby step by not answering.  Once we weren’t fighting nightly, I also stopped crying daily.  Was I better? No.  However, my days were no longer spent in PJs crying my eyes out, so it was an improvement… until I went to see an attorney. 

We were still legally married at this point and while I was told you couldn’t get a divorce while pregnant, I still knew I needed to talk to an attorney.  I was referred to a guy who is supposed to be the best in Gainesville and after spending 400 for a consultation all I learned was that I could have a divorce at any time and that Florida is all about 50/50 custody and if that was what S went for, I could do nothing to stop him.  Nothing.  I was devastated.  What kind of kid would my child grow up to be with that kind of person as his father? He then told me that I didn’t need him as my attorney, that I could use other people for a lot less money and get the same results and referred me to a few other people.

I left feeling horrible.  I didn’t know what to do.  I wished I had had the abortion and realized that if I couldn’t terminate the pregnancy, maybe it would be better if I terminated my life.  I thought about it a lot and the reason I didn’t isn’t because I secretly wanted help or anything other than that fact my mama taught me that suicide is one of the most selfish things a person can do.  She had a friend commit suicide the day after he tried to see her (she was napping and my stepdad didn’t wake her to say he was there), and I knew she had always blamed herself.  So, as much as I didn’t want the life I had and how much I just wanted my life to be over, I couldn’t go that route because I didn’t want anyone I loved to feel guilt.  That’s not to say that was the only time I thought about suicide – over the course of my pregnancy up until I started feeling the baby move (which was late because my placenta attached to the front, so it had to be a hard “kick” to see/feel it) barely a day passed when I didn’t wonder if suicide would be my best choice.  Driving home from work I would go over I-75 and always thought it would be so easy to drive off and my chances are survival seemed pretty low.  I had those thoughts like clockwork every time I drove over the interstate.  However, I talked myself out of it by reasoning that if did that someone else would get hurt and I couldn’t risk that. 

I had always given work my all, but that year I stayed literally as late as I possibly could each day (aka until I felt unsafe being here alone at night).  I had an amazing class – my first year was also amazing, but my second year was different.  I’m fairly certain they stacked my class since they knew I would be on maternity leave.  I have no problems with that!  I still have a pretty special bond with those kids – most of them come see me any chance they get and are tickled to see me out of school.

The year flew by.  Once I had students my depression let up to some degree – teaching was the only thing that kept me going.  I didn’t miss any days of work.  I probably should have, but we don’t get maternity leave… we are just given the equivalent of ten days paid leave a year.  These days can roll over, but I had none left from my first year, so I was only going to have two weeks of paid time off.  I wasn’t sure how I was going to afford maternity leave, but I couldn’t handle thinking about that.  I decided to cross that bridge when it arrived.

I considered abortion once more the last possible week.  It would have been an extremely late term abortion and I definitely would have considered it murder, but fortunately it was a procedure they didn’t do in Gainesville otherwise I think I would have gone through with it.  S and I had been fighting again, he had turned even uglier (if possible) and I eventually learned that he was not honest about anything.  All those similarities I thought we had in regards to our childhoods?  Lies.  His mom was actually a nurse and had a pretty good income.  His dad?  Yea – nothing wrong there.  Just a deadbeat, but unfortunately that’s common.  I kid you not when I say every single thing we “bonded” over was fabricated.  I have often wondered why he chose to me.  I don’t get it – I am not ugly, but I’m definitely not the prettiest person in the world.  I don’t have money.  My family had nothing to offer.  Sure, I have a brain, but I opted to go into teaching… So, why me?  Why couldn’t he have picked someone else?  Anyone else.  It makes me feel like there must be something seriously wrong with me for him to have done this to me. 

After the last almost abortion, I never considered suicide again because at that point it was no longer a fetus, but Malachi.  I could handle the idea of cancelling my own life, but not his.  In hindsight I cannot believe I ever even considered any of this – the abortion thoughts, the suicidal thoughts, etc. As I look back on my memories, it’s like I was someone else… a crazy person perhaps, but not me.  I don’t even know how to word the shame I now feel.  I’ve never even shared these feelings with anyone because I figure if people knew my thoughts at the time they would hate me at worst, want to commit me at best.  I think I did a great job hiding it – I actually have never been a fan of Miranda Lambert but when I hear her new song Mama’s Broken Heart I have to laugh a little at the line “doesn’t matter how you feel, it only betters how you look” because that was kind of my motto throughout my pregnancy.  I would tell myself every morning that how I felt on the inside didn’t matter so long as on the outside I appeared happy.  I did a great job – I could smile and laugh and pretend I was fine.  Judging by the emails I’m getting from coworkers I did an amazing job.  They were all clueless in regards to my true feelings.

Anyway, throughout the pregnancy I did every single doctor appointment alone, save one that my mom came with me to.  I hated being alone, but I was also far too proud to ask anyone to go with me.  I figured if they were interested, they would offer.  My sister offered a few times, but I didn’t want her to miss work.  I never took pictures of myself and when my sister tried I would inside it be chest up.  I wore sweaters and tried to hide the fact I was pregnant, or if I was wearing something that made it clear I was with child I would wear long sleeves over my hands so no one would see I didn’t have a ring.

The only time I remember being happy during my pregnancy was Christmastime – that’s always my favorite and that year all the family from NC came down, plus Jacob came home, so it was great.  S also offered me money around Christmastime to help pay for everything, so that was nice.  He gave me around 2000?  I don’t remember for sure. 

My due date was the beginning of February. It was moved around a lot and two different doctors gave me two different days and always referenced the due date they gave me, which I found to be odd at the time, but have since learned isn’t as odd as it sounds. I also think due dates shouldn’t be given, rather a due week.  Anyway, the later of the two dates was the 9^th and it came and went. I had an appointment on the 11^th (a Friday – all my appointments were Fridays).  S started texting me on the 9^th wanting to see his baby.  I explained I hadn’t had the baby and he didn’t believe me – after all, it was my due date and that meant the baby must be there. We fought the next few days none stop.  He wanted to be in the room and I told him I couldn’t handle the stress of childbirth plus having him there.  He insisted and threatened to cause me bodily harm if he wasn’t there. 

By the time my appointment came on Friday I was so stressed out and he was saying some mean things I can’t even repeat.  The things he was threatening to do to me were outrageous and crazy and to this day I don’t know how his mom could raise a kid who would say those things to a pregnant woman.  Anyway, my appointment went horribly – both my heart rate and Malachi’s were sky high.  The doctor had me go to North Florida right away.  All alone.  Felt like I had no one.  S was texting me during all this and the nurse inquired to who I was texting. I showed her the texts and she advised me to stop talking to me and then asked if I was going to have him at the birth.  I asked what choice I had since anyone can call a hospital and find out who the patients are.  It was in response to this that she informed me I could come in as a SNAP patient and then my records would be confidential and if anyone asked if I was there they would be told no.  I was so happy and relieved and tons of good things. I stopped texting him and completely ignored him until after I gave birth.  Within an hour of ignoring him, both heart rates were fine too – she told me it was stress. I don’t think that’s an actual diagnosis, but I suspect it was indeed true.

The following night, Saturday, I went to Cracker Barrel with my sister.  S started texting me asking if I was OK, which I ignored, and he eventually started harassing my sister too.  It made me laugh a lot – I found it amusing and wished I had started ignoring him long before.  On Sunday I came down with a rash, so decided to call into work on Monday (the 14^th).  That night we did game night with some friends.  Monday I went to the doctor and they didn’t know what my rash was, but said it wasn’t anything serious.  Since it was Valentine’s Day, Juanita and I met Natasha and Lena at the Biscuit (one of them was working and the other was eating) for brunch and then hung out until that evening, at which time we had planned a girls night.  One of my friends is a professional chief, so she did the cooking, and it was a lot of fun.  I went home super happy and feeling the best I had felt throughout my whole pregnancy.  

I woke up a bit after falling asleep with contractions and realized I was in labor.  The hysterical tears from my early pregnancy returned with a vengeance.  I prayed and prayed and prayed for hours for it to stop, telling God I wasn’t ready for this and I needed more time and everything else you can possibly imagined.  After a bit I realized it was really happening.  I decided to shower and shave.  When I got out I braided my hair in my favorite double French braids and then started throwing up.  That continued for hours.  I called my mom around 4-5 and woke up my sister about that time to take me to the hospital. 

When I arrived I was just in front of another pregnant woman who said she was having her baby as well.  We were being asked some questions about our pain on a 10 scale – I was a beat ahead so whatever answer I gave, she was .5-1 ahead of me.  Was so annoying!  This kept happening until I had to go throw up.  While I was there I also went to the bathroom, but when I came out all of a sudden there was water running down my leg.  I was so confused – I looked up, embarrassed, and told the nurse I didn’t understand how I was peeing when I had just gone.  She smiled and told me that it wasn’t pee – my water had broken and that was the best way to get a room.

So I got a huge room.  I had always said I would do it completely natural, but it was hurting so much and I was throwing up and I had no hands to hold, so I decided to go with an epidural.  Once I had it, I felt nothing, aside from the catheter they tried to put in.  I actually had to have it taken out.  On an interesting note, a lifetime with the smallest bladder possible has apparently given me an insane amount of bladder control.  Even with the epidural I was able to control it and didn’t pee on myself.  My doctor was pretty impressed.

For the next few hours I went in and out of sleep.  I stopped throwing up once I had the epidural and I felt nothing.  At some point the center for disease control came in to look at my rash (apparently one of my nurses inquired about it) and we found out I had shingles.  This made no sense because I’d never even had chicken pox.  But it was true. Then at 12:00 I started pushing.  While I was pushing my principal called me to tell me that on Monday S had called the school wanting my address.  He had pointed out he was married to me.  My principal knew the situation, so she had told him she couldn’t give out my address.  However, that day (Tuesday) he had learned that since I am a teacher, my address is a matter of public record and called the state to get it. Apparently they let the principal know if someone is requesting the address of one of her workers.  I still think that it’s so ridiculous anyone can find out my address, but there’s nothing I can do about it.  All I knew was that I was about to have my baby and he now knew where I lived.  I found that out literally while I was pushing. 

A bit later the head of the hospital came in to find out who S was and why he had been calling the hospital for days to find out if I was a patient.  I calmly explained the situation, but was freaking out on the inside.  I knew she was going to tell me he had every right to be there and that he was going to take Malachi and do something bad.  However, as we talked she let me know that he had been told I wasn’t at the hospital and that if he did come to the hospital I could call security. While she was there I could see her exchanging looks with everyone in the room and only later learned why – during the conversation my heart rate and Malachi’s had skyrocketed.  So, although I had acted cool and calm, they knew it was just an act.

I had started pushing at 12:00 and finally got him out at 1:26.  So, 86 minutes of push time.  I had been terrified of pooping while I was pushing and, like apparently most people, my fears became reality.  When I finally got all Malachi and all the poop inside me out, we discovered why it took me so much pushing – his head was the size of the average newborns shoulder-to-shoulder. That was how he earned the nickname baby bighead and how I became mama bighead and J became auntie bighead.  He was cutest baby in the whole world – I suspect because he was late and more developed than most newborns.  He nursed OK and looking in his eyes was such an incredible experience. Never knew I could love anything in the world so much. 

Even though they were having troubles stopping my bleeding and I had just gone through labor with shingles and I was terrified of S, I was happy.  And I have been since. After spending roughly 8K, I ended up with sole parental responsibility (aka sole custody) and S has visitations once a month. Sometimes he shows, mostly he doesn’t. Things didn’t work out because I had some great attorney – S emailed me a few days before our final court hearing saying he didn’t want custody.  I guess perhaps I will post about that later, but I don’t know when it will come.  I am happy to have gotten everything off my shoulders and shared.  I think perhaps I’ve been feeling guilt about the abortion/suicide thoughts this whole time. Like I said in another post, although I had heard of post-partum depression, it wasn’t until later I learned of pre-natal depression. 

I do hope I get another chance to have more babies and do it right – I will be one of those obnoxious girls that post pictures of my baby weekly and take super cheesy pregnancy pictures with my family.  I will do it all natural (for real this time!) and have to actually discuss baby names with another person as opposed to getting to pick my own.  And even if I don’t agree with my future baby-daddy on names, I will never complain!  Well, maybe I will, but it will be one of those complaints I don’t really mean.