Moving In

It was time. Our apartment was ready for us. I got all my stuff out of storage, and packed up what was not in storage. George and some of our friends helped us move. I was over the moon excited. This was it. We were going to be happy. We were going to be a family. Everything was going to be perfect!

After we got everything into the house, I started to unpack and put everything away. George was working nights, so was gone most nights until around midnight. So I had a lot of time on my own. I went shopping for the house, but dishes, bathroom essentials, silverware. You name it, what we didn’t already have I went out and purchased. I was going to make this the best little home and family ever!

We didn’t have a TV, and George wanted the biggest best TV he could get. Though he couldn’t finance one because he had terrible credit (jail and not paying bills will do that to you). Me being the good girlfriend I was let him use my credit to purchase it. (I know super smart right). I now have a TV of his in my name, a car of his in my name and the cable, and utilities are in my name.

The first night in our apartment George didn’t come home. The next morning I got up, got ready for work and off I went. Not knowing what was going on with George. We talked for a bit, he told me he was really busy at work and ended up just staying there. OK, that seemed odd to me, but whatever. (Who spends the night at work anyway)

After I got off work I saw George for just a few minutes before he went to work for the evening. We exchanged pleasantries and off he went.  I continued to move our stuff in, put everything away and clean the apartment.

That night I was laying in bed waiting for George to come home. Wondering if he would, playing every scenario of what he could be doing in my head. He said he would be home. Then, the flutter came. I felt it. You know the flutter. That first movement of the child in your belly. The first signs that there really is a human in your stomach. A time when most women are overjoyed, I was in tears. I wanted George to experience that with me. All I could do was text him and tell him I felt the baby move. His response reassured me a little. He told me that I had no idea how happy that made him. Maybe I was overreacting, maybe he really was busy the night before and ended up staying there.

The next morning I woke up and George was nowhere to be found. When I asked him, he again had the same excuse. He was busy at work and stayed there.

Now, I was starting to get really angry. What was going on. Was he hiding something, did he not want to be near me? Did he not want to move in with me? Why the Hell would he allow us to actually move into the apartment if he didn’t want to move in with me?

This went on for one more night. I was devastated. I called my parents. I had been trying to put on the face that everything was alright. I think they knew better. They got me a hotel room for the night, and told me the best thing to do would be to move out of our apartment. I wasn’t sure I was ready for that, so we stuck with the hotel for the night.

I cried myself to sleep in that hotel room all by myself that night.

The next morning I realize it was time. Moving in with George was a terrible idea. When I confronted him, he told me he never wanted to move in with me (did I mention this was ALL his idea). I was furious, why would he do this if he didn’t want to move in? I told him I was moving out. Our time in the apartment lasted exactly 3 days and he wasn’t there for any of it.

My mom came and helped me pack my stuff. I packed my clothes and a few boxes, I couldn’t dare take any of the stuff I put in the apartment because I didn’t want to leave George with nothing. My mom convinced me to take a few things. I did. Even after all George had already done, I didn’t want to leave him high and dry. I still cared for him, he was the father of my unborn child.

We loaded my moms car with what we could. I told George I would be back for my bed later. I couldn’t take it right now. My mom managed to not say anything remotely close to how she was feeling to George, though I know on the inside she was seething mad at him. Their only interactions were fairly pleasant. I think at this point, my mom didn’t want to rock the boat.

He was fine with all of this. Me on the other hand was crying myself to sleep on a nightly basis.



It has been a very busy couple weeks with work and my personal life. Sorry to keep you hanging for so long. I will try to be better.

After my last post, I had a talk with my Dad. He mentioned how he remembered finding out about my 3rd pregnancy and how he remembers his reactions completely different than what I posted. Mostly that I downplayed his reaction. He told me I can tell it like it was. And he was furious. So furious in fact, he punched a hole in a wall. Mind you, I had never once heard my Dad yell. Apparently he had yelled at my older brother once or twice, but I wasn’t around to hear it. He yelled at me. He doesn’t get angry. And for those that know him, know he isn’t a yeller. He is a thinker and a discusser. Not a yeller. I was scared he would never want to talk to me again. Never want anything to do with me again.

I am happy to say, He hasn’t yelled at me since. He hasn’t lost his temper towards me since. He is very good at keeping control, but apparently I knew how to make him lose his temper. I try very hard to not do it anymore.

So back to the story.

George and I found a one bedroom apartment. We had our lease signed. I felt I finally had a home and was excited to finally have a place to call ours. In my perverse bubble we were going to live happily ever after. He was going to change and be around and responsible. And we would have our baby. Moving day was around the corner.

George took me to a small party with some of his friends one evening (in a run down house in a bad part of town). Everyone there was drinking and having a good time. I of course was not. So George had his designated driver. One of the party goers pulled out some mushrooms. Everyone started taking them, again, except me. I was stone cold sober in a room full of drunk and high people. Loads of fun. George was finally ready to leave (after what seemed like 123 hours), I couldn’t be happier to get out of that place. Not the type of people I like to hang around. There was something about this group of people that had me uneasy. Even with all the bad decisions I made, I still had my instincts.

Later George told me that he took me to that party as a test. A test to see how I would react to him doing those sorts of things. I have nothing against people that choose to do that stuff. I have smoked marijuana before. But I have never gone beyond that. I was always too scared to experiment (apparently the D.A.R.E program in elementary school really did teach me something). I wasn’t going to tell George what he could and couldn’t do. I am not that kind of person. That is what he was trying to see, if he could push the limits on what I would do for him. In this case, hang out at a party while he drank and did mushrooms, all while ensuring he had a safe way home.

Good times.