Revealing our decision to our family and friends at the time made us appear crazy, and I often wondered whether we were. Things had been said, however, that I didn't think we could ever get beyond. I honestly don't remember a lot of the specifics, as our psyches do a pretty bang-up job of protecting us from the memories of all that "bad stuff," but the bottom line was something like this -- I called him an unemotional robot and he called me the word used for a female dog. Like I said, the comments almost seemed insurmountable, but, fortunately, I was wrong.
I hope I'm not making too much of a sweeping generalization here but, as women, we tend to like to be spoiled. It's in our nature, especially when we're pregnant. My husband is a very sweet man, but spoiling is not in his nature. I was much more nauseous with my second pregnancy than my first, and I was struggling to keep up with my freelance workload and 18-month-old boy. There were days I felt sorry for myself, but my husband just didn't seem to get it.
During my first pregnancy, I remember him doting more. He seemed more engaged and more interested about the little details. "Oh, he's the size of a lima bean now? Cool!" he'd say as I read to him from the many, many parenting books I'd filled my bookshelves with. Perhaps it's just me glamorizing the first baby, but it felt like such a special time. Granted, pregnancy is never easy, but I remember being happy … really happy.
Although I felt much worse with the second pregnancy, my husband didn't seem concerned. I began an albeit dangerous passive-aggressive game, where I'd find myself purposely complaining in front of him, only to get irate when he wouldn't take the bait and ask me what he could do.
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