Pregnancy with a Moron - Part 5

If you are just joining in, you catch up with Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, and Part 4. Then this next entry might make a little more sense. My nine months of being pregnant felt like years (as I am sure for some of you as well) but mine had a deeper sense of time, as my child (my little Pixie) was forcing my Authentic Self to be seen.

SO, in my last month of pregnancy, everything became crystal clear for me. Sort of like all the illusions of life were gone, and the Pixie was giving me truth goggles.

But all of this was a lot to take in, it's like standing in a fog but seeing clearly. My conscious self wasn't sure what to believe, as I had been told for so many years that I exaggerated everything, and made things up, or blew things out of proportion.

The Moron could see a shift, so he started working heavily on my family. I learned later, that at this time he would tell people that I was starting to lose it. He would call up my family, out of feigned concern, and say that he was "really worried about me" and was afraid that I would cause harm to myself, and ultimately the baby.

Fortunately one person out of all of this saw thru it, and slowly convinced the rest of the family of my sanity.

Along with this new found clarity, I also had all of the hormones whipping around me (like every other pregnant lady).  And it turns out you can get post-partum depression - before - you have given birth. I can remember talking to my father (my parents lived on the other side of the country) and crying because I was so scared and I had no idea how I could support this baby as the Moron had stated it was up to me to provide for the baby.

After all, he was working so hard just to provide a roof over our head, and food on the table, the least I could do is provide meager diapers etc...

I was totally stressed out - and of course on sick leave, and worried about the baby... and I was crying for what seemed to be weeks at a time.

My father at this time became quite worried about me, and had a plan to drive and pick me up and bring me home where I would have the baby there.

At the last minute, I unconsciously shut down and put up a wall for my survival, and once again chose to disbelieve what I truly felt, and forced myself back on the path of denial, and the false belief that everything was just fine.

I was apparently very convincing, as my father called off the trip, and I laughed it off as hormones.  Weeks later my mother arrived on my due date. The night she arrived at my house, I went into labour...