Children are a gift from God. Being pregnant is one of the most beautiful journeys most women desire. However, read this story: how did everyone react to the woman’s pregnancy. How would you deal with such a situation?
Source: Reddit
My husband and I have been together for 14 years. He’s 9 years older than me and has two kids from his first marriage, 23 and 20. Despite wanting it, I’ve never been able to carry a baby to term. 1 miscarriage several year ago, near the beginning of our marriage, and nothing since. No rhyme or reason for it, and my husband and I have come to terms with the fact that we won’t add to the family. I was sad but it is but things have been tough financially the last few years, so I consoled myself that it’s for the best.
Until, SURPRISE – the week before my 35th birthday, I realize my period is late. I get a positive test and I’m honestly over the moon, if you’ll excuse the cliche. My husband is excited but wants us to wait to tell the family, which I agree with. I know the statistics and I don’t want to have to be fielding constant questions if I miscarry.
Both of my stepkids are what you might call “failure to launch.” Neither have gone to college and seem happy living at home or with my MIL, who’s much more permissive than I am. My drama with my MIL is never ending so I won’t focus on that other than to say that when I first became engaged to my now-husband, I made it clear that I loved the kids and wanted to be a good mom. In retaliation to the first (and only) time my stepson called me “mom,” MIL ignited a campaign of terror against me, using the kids as a weapon. Among other things, she paid them $10 every time they said something mean to me…and bragged about it to the rest of the family. So the relationship I have with them has been definitely strained at times and we missed a lot of years of bonding, but it’s improved as they’ve gotten older and floated outside of her sphere of direct influence. I know they’ll never see me as their mom at this point but I’m happy with the relationship we’ve managed to scrape together despite it all. Or at least I WAS happy with it.
So here I am, pregnant, happy, and planning a new piece to our life that I hadn’t dared to hope for in 5 or 6 years. I let myself dream a little and went to a baby store where I cried a little bit and ended up buying a soft gray blanket and a tiny pair of shoes.
Later that same day, I had to unexpectedly pick my stepdaughter up from work. Cool, fine, no big deal. I stopped to get gas and when I came back out, she’s giving me the weirdest look. “So…are you like…pregnant or something?” She dug into the bag when I was out of the car. I could’ve lied easily and said it was for a friend, but why would I want to lie about it? I asked her if she could keep a secret, she promised she could, and I confirmed.
Needless to say, it wasn’t the happiest of responses. She just said, “Oh. Wow. That’s, uh, weird,” and was quiet the rest of the ride home. To say I was a bit deflated was an understatement but SHE doesn’t necessarily have to be happy about it. Me and my husband still can be, all on our own. Even if nobody else celebrates, WE can.
A few days later and everything else is going along just fine. I’m counting down the days until the ultrasound, everything seems good…until my stepson decides to show me a chat between him and my stepdaughter where she was talking about how gross it is that I’m pregnant, it’s embarrassing, everybody’s going to assume it’s actually her kid when we’re out together (??) and just general…not very nice things.
When she’s back home later, I come out to talk to her while she’s watching TV with my husband. I’m trying to be chill but my brain is going a million miles a minute. I asked her how she felt about the baby and she responded with an eye roll. I ask again, and tell her that I really want to know because it impacts her life, too. She’s starting to get irritated with me – she says she’s tired and had a long day and could I just drop it? Maybe this is where I misstepped but, no, I can’t drop it now. I keep asking her to talk, she keeps refusing, until she finally decides to drop a bomb:
“YOU SHOULD JUST GET AN ABORTION BECAUSE THIS WHOLE THING IS FU**ING WEIRD.”
Honestly, I’m kind of shocked at this point. I knew that she wasn’t delighted but, damn, that’s a whole ‘nother level. It was like getting smacked in the face with a sock full of nickels. I started crying, thanked her for being honest like an idiot, and then left the room. A little while later, my husband comes into the room where I’m sobbing my guts out. I assume he’s going to try to comfort me or at least give me more context to soften the blow, which he does a lot when one of the kids says something awful to me. He sits down, puts his arm around me, and opens with:
“Maybe we should consider it.”
Come again?? The f**k did you just say?
He must see murder in my eyes because he rushes on with how happy he is BUT we’re not really in the best place financially BUT he just started a new job BUT it’s hard enough with the two “kids” already BUT the kids aren’t on board BUT BUT BUT.
I told him over my dead body was a baby that I’ve wanted for 14 fu**ing years is getting aborted over that. IT’S A MIRACLE BABY, NOT A CONTESTANT TO BE VOTED OFF THE ISLAND. I said some other things that I’m not proud of, stuffed some clothes in a bag, and came to my parents’ house. I’ve been here for 3 days now and NOBODY has reached out to me. Not a f**king peep.
I just don’t even know where to go from here. I feel like I’m surrounded by insane people that are all just looking out for their own interests… At least my parents are excited, I guess. I can’t say that I am anymore.
UPDATE _
As my story was last left, I’m 35 and find myself pregnant with a very wanted surprise baby after many years of infertility. I have a rough relationship with my MIL and two adult stepchildren. My stepdaughter finds out I’m pregnant, flips her shit, and tells me I need to abort it. My husband, apparently, agrees after hearing her opinion. I left to stay at my parents’ house and hadn’t heard from my husband in 3 days.
To be honest, I didn’t want to see my husband at all. I had no desire after his “confession.” My radical act of self-care was ensconcing myself in my childhood bedroom, eating lots of potato chips and watching too much Animal Planet. My parents, at least, were absolutely delighted over the pregnancy. I’m an only child and my mom had always wanted more but had infertility problems, too. They went with me to my first ultrasound. They cried with me. They bought me a cake. My dad carved a little pumpkin with an amorphous blob on it that looked suspiciously like that weird, amazing amorphous blob on the sonogram screen. It was sweet.
The day after the scheduled ultrasound and about 2 weeks of radio silence, I received a text from my husband saying that we need to talk and I advised him that he could come talk to me in person. We chose to meet at a neutral public location as my parents didn’t really want his face darkening their doorstep, and I agreed because I didn’t want him tracking figurative shit all over my safe place.
So, we talked – or rather, I talked. I informed him of how hurt I was, mostly by his agreement with SD; he said he understood. I informed him that I would not be aborting for the comfort of an overgrown toddler; he nodded his head sagely. I informed him how the ultrasound went; he looked interested. I informed him that he and his children would be moving out of my house within 30 days; he was…somewhat less in agreement at this point.
Dear reader, I honestly had no fu**s to give at this point. He had let me stew for days and DAYS by myself. I’m not sure if his tactic was to let me suck myself into an anxiety vortex, as I’m wont to do, and come crying back, as I have before. Just…no more. I can only assume those days I spent buried beneath blankets served as a chrysalis because I was not the same person when I went out as when I went in.
I wanted them out of my house. The house that I bought before our marriage, the house that was in only my name. Those bricks were designed to hold happiness, not petty comments and miserable people disguising their own black hearts with my tendency to see the best in them. It was mine, and, as selfish as I’m sure someone will tell me it is, it was mine alone to fill as I chose. And I no longer chose them.
I wish I could say that my story ends with me happily getting fat and filling up a nursery with baby things, but it’s not that kind of story. Around the time my husband and his kids moved their last box out, an ultrasound confirmed that my baby didn’t survive. To say I was devastated would be an understatement, but at least I had my own space to grieve. Not only for my baby but for the family and marriage that had been my life for almost 15 years.
I’m going to be okay. I am okay.
