Just me and my straw-ber-ita
So, blogging isn't really my thing, however, as the mother of a 5 month old and in light of some recent events I needed a space to vent my frustrations to other moms and well just anyone in general. I'm not doing this for money or fame or recognition, I just want to tell a stranger about what's going on with me.
I did not know I was pregnant until I was 5 and 1/2 months along. How you say? Well not everyone has symptoms and even my general practitioner didn't know despite having a pap and pee test at what would have been the two month mark. In fact, when I found out I was still on birth control. The day after I found out my boyfriend and I went to an OBGYN to figure everything out. Turns out not only did we get to see my baby that day, we also found out he was a boy, our little Aiden.
We were excited but scared, neither of us was even remotely prepared for this challenge; I was in the beginning of graduate school and my boyfriend worked 55 hours a week so he could make the payments on his truck. We did everything right after that, we read the books, we had the showers, we watched what I ate and drank and finally on the day for Valentine's day I was induced at two weeks past my due date. Aiden came that same day in only four pushes, his daddy was the best partner I could ask for and coached me through the whole process. Three years together and we still had that spark, or so I thought.
Now five months later I wonder if I had just imagined the last three years we spent together in what I thought was happiness. He a spontaneous person, with an incredibly high metabolism, and energy for days and I a mellow, go with the flow person, with barely the energy to go to my four hours of work a day much less come home and do anything besides sit down and pump my large amounts of breastmilk.
Everything seemed fine the first four months, we seemed happy if a bit tired and less affectionate. I blamed it on the breastfeeding, which for me was true, however something else was nagging at him. He came home one day early from his ten hour shift to tell me he wanted to separate. He told me he still loved me and wanted to be a father to his son, but that he needed space and time alone, he wanted to move out. I was devastated and confused, it seemed to come out of nowhere.
I spent the next week trying to figure things out, trying to convince him that he could stay and still get his space and time, and it seemed to work. I stopped breastfeeding and started trying to pay more attention to him, I went to the gym to get my body back to a more normal shape, and my energy came back. I thought we were okay.
Then flash forward three weeks and suddenly he's not holding me at night, quits reaching out to touch me, and when he kisses our lips barely touch. I ask him if he still loves me and he says yes.
Now I'm sitting at home, alone, drinking my tall can straw-ber-ita and sleeping on the couch. How could I possibly sleep in our bed knowing he's out somewhere else spending the night and won't tell me where? I'm not a drinker, but I'm drinking because I'm trying not to wallow in self-pity and give in to the tears that sit at my eyelids. Watching Pride and Prejudice and writing this blog, trying not to give in to the sadness of my crumbling relationship that I thought we had worked so hard for.
I did not know I was pregnant until I was 5 and 1/2 months along. How you say? Well not everyone has symptoms and even my general practitioner didn't know despite having a pap and pee test at what would have been the two month mark. In fact, when I found out I was still on birth control. The day after I found out my boyfriend and I went to an OBGYN to figure everything out. Turns out not only did we get to see my baby that day, we also found out he was a boy, our little Aiden.
We were excited but scared, neither of us was even remotely prepared for this challenge; I was in the beginning of graduate school and my boyfriend worked 55 hours a week so he could make the payments on his truck. We did everything right after that, we read the books, we had the showers, we watched what I ate and drank and finally on the day for Valentine's day I was induced at two weeks past my due date. Aiden came that same day in only four pushes, his daddy was the best partner I could ask for and coached me through the whole process. Three years together and we still had that spark, or so I thought.
Now five months later I wonder if I had just imagined the last three years we spent together in what I thought was happiness. He a spontaneous person, with an incredibly high metabolism, and energy for days and I a mellow, go with the flow person, with barely the energy to go to my four hours of work a day much less come home and do anything besides sit down and pump my large amounts of breastmilk.
Everything seemed fine the first four months, we seemed happy if a bit tired and less affectionate. I blamed it on the breastfeeding, which for me was true, however something else was nagging at him. He came home one day early from his ten hour shift to tell me he wanted to separate. He told me he still loved me and wanted to be a father to his son, but that he needed space and time alone, he wanted to move out. I was devastated and confused, it seemed to come out of nowhere.
I spent the next week trying to figure things out, trying to convince him that he could stay and still get his space and time, and it seemed to work. I stopped breastfeeding and started trying to pay more attention to him, I went to the gym to get my body back to a more normal shape, and my energy came back. I thought we were okay.
Then flash forward three weeks and suddenly he's not holding me at night, quits reaching out to touch me, and when he kisses our lips barely touch. I ask him if he still loves me and he says yes.
Now I'm sitting at home, alone, drinking my tall can straw-ber-ita and sleeping on the couch. How could I possibly sleep in our bed knowing he's out somewhere else spending the night and won't tell me where? I'm not a drinker, but I'm drinking because I'm trying not to wallow in self-pity and give in to the tears that sit at my eyelids. Watching Pride and Prejudice and writing this blog, trying not to give in to the sadness of my crumbling relationship that I thought we had worked so hard for.
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