Susie, late 30s
I was introduced to my now-husband at a work happy hour. We dated for about a year, and then I found out I was pregnant. I hadn’t been taking precautions against pregnancy and I was already in my thirties, so it was a sort of foregone conclusion that I would keep the baby. He had options, though. I told him that he could be as involved in the baby’s life as he wanted to. A month later, he proposed.
I’m pretty heavily pregnant in my wedding photos. I’ve been looking at them often lately because I’m searching for some clue hidden in our faces that things would go terribly wrong. Granted, he and I didn’t get married the way most couples do—we didn’t follow the correct timeline. But when I think about it objectively, I do believe that we would have stayed together even had I not ended up pregnant.
The first year after the baby came was really lovely. I took some time off of work and was able to dedicate all of my energy to baby. I felt totally overwhelmed with love, and totally happy. When I finally went back to work, it was with a little relief and a lot of regret. I really wanted to stay home with my son, but I also realized that I’d wrapped my whole identity up around him: I was his mom, his vessel for food, and little else.
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