I wanted a boy. At the time, I already had one boy, so I knew what to expect. But that was not really the reason.
Pregnancy really played a tole on my mental health. Since high school, I’ve been roughly the same weight. When the extra pounds started coming I got in a mental funk.
I need to be all in. Superficially, I am. I preach about openness and having a heart for foster care.
Those 40 weeks crept by, especially in the moment. I gained 41 lbs over those 40 weeks. (Wow, a pound a week! -- Yikes!)
One conversation that held so much weight. So much hurt. So much sadness.
This is about a very different type of mom guilt. One I am assuming that I don’t share with many.
Well, I’m 27 years old and no longer have that relationship to crawl back to, sooooo…
It has been 131 days that I have known you might not stay with me, but it was made real 2 days ago.
The physical abuse stopped once I threatened to fight back. The shaming, the degrading, and the criticizing never ended. 27 years later I was given my reason.
It is a term I have heard him use to describe himself more than once.