Okay, I *refuse, refuse, refuse* to bring my thread down, but I'm gonna copy and paste a portion of an e-mail I sent a friend this morning, who's always really good at pulling me outta my funks. I don't really know why I'm going to post it; maybe so many of you can see that even strong ol' Preggo has her days. But don't feel sorry for me about this, because I'm feeling a lot better this evening, and the last thing I need is pity, okay? If you pity me, I'll never write another "real" post again.
...Sundays are my worst days. It doesn't matter how great I've felt for how many days; Sundays still pull me down. I think it's because that day was our "winding down" day and typically H and I would spend the whole day together, just kinda relaxing. We'd have gone out on a date Saturday night, then slept in late Sunday morning -- and stayed in bed even later, if you know what I mean. Then he would make breakfast and we'd lay on the couch until he got frustrated that he wasn't getting anything done, so he'd go out to the garage and work a while. Then we'd go grab a bite to eat a little later, then get the girls, then have family night. I thought I hated Sundays then. Sheesh. I'd give anything to have another one like that, ya know?
Plus, I got all sentimental this morning because I got a book in the mail that I had ordered; it's another one of those developmental-stages-of-your-baby-in-utero books. And usually I can handle them fine; I have, like, a dozen of them that the girls and I flip through every week to see how the baby is growing. But this morning, it made me really, *really* sad.
I can say with certainty that I regret "choosing" XH as the girls' dad, because he was always a piece of sh1t. And the fact is that I didn't really "choose" him; both D9 and D8 were unplanned.
But I chose H, and I can't say that I regret it because he never gave me a clue that he would turn out to be this way. Though he wasn't connected biologically to the girls, he interacted with them better than any father I've ever seen interact with his own children. He took them to the library, to the park, and on bike rides. It was always me who sent them to my parents on the weekends, but he never pushed for that and in fact, he wanted them to stay home more. He taught them to ride a bike, he helped them every night with their homework, he listened to them read to him.
And now I'm pregnant with his own son, and the baby's not going to have the benefit of knowing his dad that way. He won't get any of it, and that hurts me to the very core of my being. I couldn't have made a better decision of who to choose for his father. I can't even beat myself up over the decision I made. But my heart aches so badly for my baby, whose little head and feet I can discern from looking at my stomach as he pops up and down inside me.
Though I feel I'm in a hurry to have him, I dread separating from him -- I dread like hell the moment I can no longer protect him totally from what's going on out here. Right now, he's just so happy and content and carefree; he has no idea what rejection feels like. But he will soon enough, and just as much as it makes me sad, it makes me so downright angry. He doesn't deserve this, and neither do I. But there's not a damn thing I can do about it, and the feeling of having no control is sometimes almost too much for me to take.
On the other hand, I just wish he were here already so I could hold him and look at him and know that it was all worth it.
