Love at first sight…

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I had been depressed in the pregnancy. There were days, before I got my reception job at the children’s centre, that I would cry for hours.

I think it was the night before my due date that I cried to Tim because I wasn’t excited about the baby being born.

In retrospect, I think that was why the labour was so hard. If I had been excited, the beginnings of labour would have been exciting. But I found every minute of it awful.

Once he was born though, and I lay there legs akimbo, once the adrenaline had worn off and the shock had subsided, as they stitched me up (and yes I farted) after a good few puffs of gas and air (which by the way does nothing for the pain) to endure injections into my actual fairy (after all it had been through!), as I lay there then, the happy high of birth rose in me and never left. The depression slunk off and we have all been happy ever since.

But I didn’t love him at first. I was very happy. I stared at him all day, I stroked him, I fed him, I rocked him, I nearly cried when he, screaming, had his IV removed, but he could be passed to anyone and I didn’t mind, I could have left him for hours (I didn’t) and I don’t think I would have missed him. I was very happy but he felt like a stranger that I had to get to know.

He was a lovely little stranger. For the first 2 weeks he slept and woke only to feed. I spent every minute with him and watched him grow from tiny 6lb 10oz twiglet to a real chunky bubba who smiled and made gentle little sounds and screamed in rage when the boob didn’t arrive into his angry rosebud mouth fast enough.

Then one evening, when Tim was in Paris, I looked at him and cried because I loved him. It had taken about 6 weeks but the little stranger felt less of a little stranger and the love and fear had grown in equal measure, because they always seem to go hand in hand.

It wasn’t love at first sight, but it was really ok.

A letter to him

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This is how I feel all the time.

I am sorry. I am sorry that I kept the baby and now your life will be changed forever. I am sorry that you might have to move back to the UK and give up your dream of France for a while.

I am not sorry. Use a condom.

I am not sorry that I didn’t have an abortion for you.

I am not sorry when my baby kicks inside me.

I love you. I will always love you. You’re the father of my child and my best friend. But these are all the contraries that I feel.

If I had not been pregnant I would never have seen you again. Although me and her would not have found out, for maybe a very long time, or maybe forever, the whole truth at least. So I would have kept seeing you, until I left Paris or your lies were somehow revealed or one of us bored of the other. I think this baby was a good thing for you. Now you can sort your head out.

I told you that once I had the abortion I never wanted to see you again. You cried but that evening you would be back with her and you would never have had to reveal the lie.

You weren’t there for me. You weren’t there for me when I needed you.

As the abortion date drew nearer and I told you how I felt about it, you said you felt you should be there… to make sure that I went through with it.

You said you could come the Thursday night and leave on the Saturday. The abortion was booked for the Friday morning. I said don’t bother.

You went to the cinema and had sex with her after I told you I was keeping it and you were going to have a child. You had dinner with her mum and you were going to have a child with somebody else.

How can I be with you when I think you would rather be with her? How can I be with you when I know you would lie to save my feelings, for fear I would take your child?

How can I be with you when you would rather be in France than be with me?

But how can I get over you when you come back to my bed? How can I move on when I am at home with a baby on my tit?

I am angry. I think if you want to be involved then be fully involved. Will you buy nappies with me? Will you buy a pram? Will you be there for the nights?

No? Then don’t bother coming back at all.

I’m sorry. I’m not angry.

I don’t need you. This was my choice. I made this decision alone and I knew the consequences of that. If you’re there to babysit sometimes, then great. If not, that’s fine.

I need you. I don’t want to do this on my own. I want to be a happy family. I want us to make decisions together.

What do you want? Just tell me what you want.

I could do better than you.

I would be better off alone.

I don’t want to be alone.

All that matters is this baby and I need to stop thinking about you.