I Am Finally Ready To Reveal The Truth About The Baby In My Belly
I stared down at my eight-month pregnant belly, a little foot slightly kicked out. I always wanted to be a mom, and my dreams were coming true — I was with child.
My paint brush dripped white paint on the brown dresser as I glazed over the wood surface — we were having a girl. After waiting several years, I was tired of seeing the single pink line show up on that white stick, but we didn’t have to worry about that any longer.
Our little bundle of joy was due in just four short weeks. Everything was perfect. The room was completely white, clean and pure, just like this baby was going to be.
I couldn’t help but daydream about what she might be when she grew up. Would she want to be a ballerina, a doctor, or maybe an artist?
The thought of my parents being called grandma and grandpa as they chased a little girl around the house made my heart melt. We hadn’t chosen a name yet.
Jonathan hadn’t quite warmed up to the idea of becoming a father. I think he was afraid of the responsibility this baby would bring us.
Even though we hadn’t discussed the name, I had one in mind. Everyone says to wait until the birth before you 100% decide on a name, and that is what I wanted to do. However, I knew in my heart that this little girl was going to be Scarlett, I could just feel it.
Drip-drip-drip. A grin spread across my face as I splattered on the white paint, I was determined to get this done before Jonathan came home; nesting was a wonderful feeling.
I can clearly remember the day I found out I was expecting. My period never came, not even a single cramp accompanied me that month; I was elated.
Jonathan came home from work, and I told him I had some big news for him. Macaroni and cheese with brisket is the meal we ate when I revealed the great news to him. He was excited, shocked, but still excited.
That excitement started to fade after a few doctor’s appointment into the pregnancy. I think reality had finally hit him. Can you blame him though? Welcoming a baby into the world is a life changing event, we had to be ready to change our lifestyle.
Pregnancy is such an amazing gift given to women. You are creating life inside of your body. I can barely prepare a decent meal, but here I am now, developing human life.
The past eight months had been easy as far as pregnancy symptoms go. I had the occasional nauseas stomach, a few sleepless nights, and a little bit of lower back pain; but for the most part, things were going good.
My imagination would occasionally run wild with thoughts of what the birth might be like. I wanted a natural water birth, but the pain scared me into thinking I might want an epidural. I guess no mother knows what they want until they are in labor.
Still though, I had a vision of how I wanted the overall process to go. The occasional birth nightmare would creep in every now and then. What if I had to have a C-section, or what if I became incontinent after the birth?
The thought of all the complications that could arise made me a little uneasy, but I took a deep breath and reminded myself that it would all be worth it in the end.
The paint was starting to streak the dresser and ooze down the sides. Oops, I probably put too much paint on that last coat. The bristles of my paint brush caught the last few drops of paint getting ready to fall on the ground.
The floor creaked as Jonathan walked through the front door. I couldn’t wait to show him what I had done. Little white specks of paint turned to little red specks. A leather shoe appeared in the door way of the nursery, I peered up to see it was Jonathan.
My cheeks tightened with the biggest smile, I couldn’t wait to see his expression with how close the nursery was to being done. I knew he would be proud of me for accomplishing so much today. His face faded from surprised to horrified.
His breathing became heavier as he tried to choke out the words, “Honey, you’re, you’re… bleeding. Bad!”
The doctors showed me test after test, scan after scan, but I wasn’t going to listen to what they were telling me. I knew the truth.
My mom had flown down to stay with us while I recovered from the wounds. It was suggested that I stayed accompanied until I came to terms with my infertility.
It felt good to be back home. I walked past what would have been her nursery. Most of the blood had been cleaned up, but the puddle stains on the carpet remained.
My mom came into the room with three orange pill bottles — they looked daunting. I cracked open the lid and out rolled a white pill onto my palm. These were the biggest pills I had ever seen, and to think the doctors wanted me to take five a day.
I gave my mom a reassuring smile, “It’s ok mom. I know what is best now.”
She gave a reassuring smile back, and went to finish her television program.
I opened each bottle and flushed them down the toilet. These medications couldn’t be safe to take while pregnant, the risk of hurting my unborn baby was too high.
They can’t see her in there, I know this, but I know that if I keep digging deep enough, they’ll see her.