When we decided to start trying for a baby, I went all in. Tracking ovulation, daily temping, fertility windows etc. Having a better understanding of how my body worked, and the miracles it could perform, was empowering. It was like playing the lottery every month knowing that one day you will eventually win. Exciting!
The day before I got a positive pregnancy test result, on our fifth cycle of trying, we had a huge fight. We were driving to dinner and I mentioned how my basal body temperature was still raised which indicated a good chance of pregnancy. I explained the science behind it and said wasn't it just so cool? I was so excited and said I couldn't wait to take a test the following morning because I just had a good feeling about this cycle.
Throughout this conversation H was silent and withdrawn. Eventually he blew up and said I was ruining this experience for him. I had taken something that was supposed to be fun and spontaneous and turned it into a science experiment. He was sick of hearing about my periods and having sex on a schedule. He made me feel like absolute garbage and the evening ended with me crying my eyes out and apologising to him.
He would often use the phrase "There are two people in this relationship" as a trump card in arguments. It would inevitably cut me down in my tracks and bring me so much guilt that I'd fall over myself apologising for being selfish and thoughtless.
The next morning I took the test and it was positive. I was happy, of course, but it was tempered by the ugliness of the previous night. His response was weird. He just said "We're going to have a little one" and tried to initiate celebratory sex. While he was at work that day, I decided to make up for my transgression. I blew up about 100 balloons to fill our bedroom. I hung bunting on the walls. I bought a tiny onesie withe 'my dad rocks' written on it. I also bought a little baby groot figurine because H loved superhero movies and thought that character was really cute. So I put together this nice display to surprise him when he got home.
For his part, he surprised me with a similar display a few days later. A card with a 'bun in the oven' joke, a bottle of my favourite perfume, flowers, and candles. That is a nice memory. He knew that cards meant a lot to me, and always put a lot of effort into them, even though he couldn't care less about receiving them himself. Although that gesture is tainted now after the card I received on our third anniversary, just two weeks before BD. In it, he had written 'love you to the moon and back'. After BD, I asked him what he meant by that message if, as he claimed, he had been unhappy for years. He replied that he just did it because it was expected of him. Phew!
