The next 6 months

I moved back in with my parents. Who were at the time, building a house, so were living with family. There were a lot of us under one roof, and I needed space.

I got a second job so I could afford to take care of my child. I couldn’t count on George. I couldn’t count on anyone but myself. If there was one thing I learned it was that I was the only one I could count on.

I was working nights doing data entry and days for a phone company. Needless to say I was tired. Not getting much sleep and stressed to the max. I wasn’t eating enough. George was constantly berating me, making me feel guilty for not giving him money anymore (George’s ATM was closed, I needed to save what I had for when the baby came). I was trying to keep him happy and keep my sanity.

My Dad and brother went with me one weekend to pick up my bed. George had found a stroller somewhere and wanted me to take that as well (It looked like it was from 1970, so I am sure didn’t meet current regulations). I think my Dad had a harder time not saying what he felt to George that day. I was walking on eggshells around both of them.

By this time I had accumulated quite a bit of baby clothes and necessities, including a crib. George’s mother had given me quite a bit of stuff, that she got from a friend. I had boxes and boxes of clothes and blankets.

We didn’t take the stroller. I found out when we got home I had dropped my phone in the parking lot of the apartment complex. They called and we planned to go out on Monday to get it. I didn’t want to drive back that far that day. George was trying to get a hold of me all weekend. When I didn’t respond to his texts or voice mails, he became irate. Leaving me nasty messages, yelling at me. You name it he probably said it.

I picked up my phone and found a dozen or so texts and voice mails from him. I called him back when I got home. Apparently that wasn’t good enough. I should have come to see him while I was there. I didn’t want to see him. I was starting to see him for what he truly was, and I didn’t want to be around him. My sanity couldn’t be around him. I couldn’t deal with him yelling at me anymore.

I don’t know what my turning point was. Maybe it was that weekend, and how he treated me because I dropped my phone. Maybe being away from him did it. But I saw it. I saw how he was treating me. I saw our relationship from the outside in, how everyone else saw it. I saw how it wasn’t right. The hard part, was I still cared about him. He was still the father of my child. I was being torn in two directions.

George was supposed to spend Christmas with his Dad out of state. He called me on Christmas day saying he was coming back and needed me to pick him up and then I needed to go spend Christmas with him and his Mom. I was so worried about keeping the peace (and secretly still wanted this to work), I ditched my family on Christmas and went to spend it with his family. I knew I should have stayed with my family, but I was angry at them. I was angry they weren’t supporting my decisions, and weren’t overjoyed about my pregnancy. I just wanted them to be happy for me. But how could they? I was unwed and pregnant and with a guy that was verbally abusive. A guy that told me he didn’t want to be with me, but wanted the child I was carrying. Didn’t want anything to do with me, just my child. A guy that I was trying desperately to hang on to, but was running in the other direction spewing profanities along the way.

I was still allowing him to come to my doctor visits. On one such occasion we were in the room waiting for the Dr. He started cussing and yelling at me, calling me a bitch, asshole, whatever you can imagine he was saying it. I was done, I was in tears. I was tired of him talking to me that way. I told him he needed to stop now, I wasn’t going to put up with it. I reminded him that this was my Dr. and my appointment. I could easily reach my head out the door and have the nurse call security and have him escorted out. That seemed to work, because he stopped after that.

On another occasion I brought my Mom with me to an appointment. George showed up too. After we left he texted me telling me I was an awful person, and it was messed up for me to bring my Mom to an appointment with me. I am not sure how bringing my Mom makes me an awful person. But apparently it did.

This continued. I tried to keep him happy while trying to keep my sanity. It was very difficult. I was under the recommend weight gain for a pregnancy. And Dr. said I had to gain more weight before I could have the baby. I was trying, but it was near impossible.

I was reaching my breaking point. I was talking to my best friend one night at work. She told me that no matter what happens after the baby is born do not go back to George. She said he will try to get back together. He will tell you he was wrong. He will say he wants to be a family. She told me no matter what, I need to stick to my guns and not get back together with him. I don’t remember if I ever told her this, but I was certain, if he asked to start over, I would do it in a heartbeat. If he decided that he did want this family, I would jump at the chance. I was that committed to making a family for my child that I would make it with someone like him.

This was what I did for the next six months. The constant back and forth, the constant stress. The constant heartache. I have no idea how I made it through all of that.


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