I spoke to my husband again last night. Bringing up this topic is so darn nerve-wracking for me because I know how much he hates it.
He might not be the best at talking about this issue, but he’s given me a really wide berth so I could work out handling it on my own. He’s taken Vince for much of the week so I could sleep off some of my depression. He hadn’t really grumbled about the fact that I’ve taken to sleeping in Vince’s bed just so I can cuddle with him since I miss him during the day. He hasn’t complained about the house looking like a tornado ran through, and he even ordered lunch when I didn’t feel like making anything. He might not do well with the verbal part of this process for me, but he’s been great making up for that in other areas.
But I did bring it up again last night because I want him to know that I named the baby. He still bristles at the idea of pregnancy – he physically bristles. But he didn’t say anything and probably swallowed the urge to huff and roll his eyes. He let me talk in the hopes that I’d get it over with as quickly as possible.
I asked him if he was interested in knowing what I named her. He said “No, not really, but if you want to tell me, go ahead.”
That sort of reaction hurts because I can tell he doesn’t believe I was pregnant. I could tell in his voice that he was simply humoring me by “hearing” her name.
I ignored the annoyance in myself and just said, “Myla Therese.”
He said nothing. I don’t even know why I bothered to wait for a reaction. He stared ahead, not even at me, blank-faced.
So I asked, “Do you like it?”
He looked at me with a level glance and said, “No.”
I’m not surprised. Myla isn’t a “normal” name. John likes “normal.”
So I said, “Well, what don’t you like?”
He said, “I’m not going to play that game. I don’t want to be naming anything. If you want to do it, I’m not gonna say anything, but I don’t want to be involved.”
The name “Mia” popped into my head. It’s similar to Myla and simple enough to be “normal.” So I offered that.
He thought for a quick second before shooting that down, too.
How do you tell your husband you want his input because you don’t want him to dislike the one and only thing you can actually give to her?
*sigh, sigh, sigh*
The wall went up and he was done with the conversation before it’d even hit the 2 minute mark.
What can I do? Nothing. And now I feel as though Myla can't be her first name because I don’t want there to be anything about her that her Daddy doesn’t like. Does that make sense?
I don’t know. I just don't know. Frankly, I still go back and forth with my own sanity. Was I pregnant? Yes. I believe I was. But I don’t have proof. I have nothing… now I don’t even have a name.
I feel lost and angry and hurt and confused. I absolutely hate this, and I don’t know what to do with myself. What am I supposed to do with myself? What do I do with any of this?
A friend suggested that maybe I’d just named an aborted baby. There can’t be harm in that, she said. But again, I get angry with myself for going down that road because I feel like I’m denying what actually happened.
I don’t know what to do with myself. I really don’t. This is such a messed up situation in my mind that I can’t fully wrap my head around it. Maybe I am just crazy. I’d like to think I’m too logical for that sort of delusion, but I guess the possibility is always present.
But the possibility of pregnancy is present, too, and it frustrates me to no end that I have no definitive evidence with which to convince John. How do I explain the changes of my body without him writing them off as inconsequential?
And that’s the point that really sticks me, I think. I guess I don’t care if anyone else believes me or not. I expect John to. I want John to. Denying his own child (or his wife’s mental stability) irks me to no end.
But again – what am I to do? What do I actually do to make any of this any better?
I just don’t know.
I hate this. I really, really hate this.
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