My husband anticipated to enter our front door as if nothing had happened when he got back from his week-long trip. Instead, he discovered a person with a furious face and a bright yellow bag obstructing his path. Every tear I shed was worth it when I saw the terrified expression on his face.
In hindsight, I should have recognized Jason’s character issues long before we were married.
He had always been the kind of person who prioritized his friends and offered justifications when things were difficult. I dismissed it as him being youthful and carefree when we were dating.
I convinced myself that he would change after marriage and mature as a result of responsibilities. Jason seemed different for a bit after we were engaged.
He spoke excitedly about our future and made all the necessary commitments to be a wonderful husband.
“We’re going to be such a great team, Claudia,” he would say while he held my hands and gazed into my eyes. “I can’t wait to build a life with you.”
I had full faith in him. I wanted to think he was real.
Eight months after our wedding, Jason was ecstatic when I became pregnant.
I thought maybe this was it because hubby took the time to carefully assemble the cot and paint the nursery a gentle shade of yellow on the weekends. Perhaps he would finally be the responsible man I had always hoped for if he became a father.
“This baby is going to have the best daddy in the world,” he would say at night to my expanding womb. He discussed everything he wanted to educate our child while reading parenting literature.
Seeing how excitedly he prepared for fatherhood throughout those months filled me with hope.
Then reality set in. At 37 weeks, my pregnancy took a bad turn. When problems emerged, what was intended to be a vaginal birth turned into an emergency C-section.
Thanks to the speedy efforts of the doctors, our lovely daughter Emma was born healthy.
However, I was weak, sore, and totally reliant on other people to do even the most basic things after the surgery. Jason had reassured me, “Don’t worry, babe,” while I lay in the hospital bed, still feeling dazed from the anesthesia.
“I’m going to take such good care of you and Emma when we get home. You just focus on healing, okay?”
Sleepless nights, difficult incision care, and learning how to nurse characterized those first few days at home.
Jason offered some assistance, but it was obvious that he was uneasy and overwhelmed.
He never took the initiative, but he did change his diapers when I asked him to. When Emma was calm, he would hold her, but as soon as she began to cry, he would return her to me. The phrase “I think she wants her mommy” became his go-to response in difficult situations.
I was really worn out by the fourth week.
I could hardly move from the bedroom to the kitchen without squirming since my incision was still healing. Jason stated the most surprising thing ever at that point.
One morning, Jason said nonchalantly, “So, Tom got that promotion he’s been working toward,” without even raising his head from his phone. “The guys want to celebrate with a weeklong trip to the beach.
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