Suffocated By Pregnancy
For someone who had experienced so many life-changing moments as a child and teenager, I never imagined I would actually find my person.
Our story was one of those whirlwind romances. Everything happened fast—so fast that we both took steps we had never taken with anyone else. My mom always told me I would just know, and with him, I did.
A month after we moved in together, I found out I was pregnant. At first, the news filled us with excitement and joy. It felt surreal and wonderful… until something inside me shifted. The pregnancy monster, as I called her, took over my mind and my emotions.
Suddenly, I felt suffocated. I didn’t like the constant presence of someone else in my space. I missed my quiet, my routines, and my freedom. I didn’t like all the new ‘friends’ coming in and out of our home, the social obligations I had never signed up for. I had lived alone for two years before he moved in. I loved him, but I wasn’t prepared for this upheaval. I felt an overwhelming need to prove my independence—to everyone, but especially to myself. Relying on someone else made me feel weak, a shadow of childhood trauma that refused to fade.
It didn’t help that I was in my final year of earning my bachelor’s degree. I needed time and focus to study, while he wanted to enjoy life. By the time I was three months pregnant, I had reached my breaking point. He moved out.
I remember that day vividly. It felt like an out-of-body experience, saying that I didn’t love him and couldn’t do this anymore. The words came out, but they weren’t in my heart. I cried as I spoke, knowing it was wrong, yet unable to stop it. For the next four days, we tiptoed around each other—me retreating to the bedroom in tears, him staying in the spare room. Then, he told me he was moving out for good, and I was furious. Which made no sense, since I had been the one to end things.
The pregnancy monster truly is real. She burrows into your head and distorts your thoughts. I regretted it the moment all of his belongings were gone.
We spent the next four months apart. Arguments about the baby came and went, and eventually, we reached a fragile truce. We agreed to co-parent as best as we could—not ideal, not what either of us wanted, but necessary. Yet the monster refused to release her grip. She clung to me, making me say words I didn’t fully mean.
Then, almost seven months pregnant, my hot water tank broke. Pride swallowed, I reached out to him. It was a huge step, but he owned a construction company, and I knew he could help. He did more than I expected—he not only found a new tank but came with his father to install it. That day, a small part of my heart melted.
A week later, he helped assemble the baby’s furniture. We talked. He touched my belly, feeling the baby move, and hugged me before leaving. I cried for hours afterward. Each moment with him warmed my heart further.
This continued until the baby shower. He arrived at the end to help open gifts, and multiple family members commented on how effortless it seemed, as if we were still together. It hit me—I didn’t need to prove my independence anymore. There was no reason to cling to that idea. I needed to face my mistakes.
We decided to give our relationship another chance, trying to start fresh before our baby arrived. He moved back in a couple of weeks before my due date, and everything felt different. I cherished coming home to him. He became my rock through a pregnancy that was anything but easy.
The first five months brought relentless morning sickness. In the final four months, food aversions took over, and I lost about 25 pounds. I never regained my previous weight, even at nine months, but our baby remained healthy, and I did my best to nourish her. A recurring infection on my tailbone added to the misery, requiring two drains, making me feel like I would rather endure childbirth again than face that pain.
The infection also meant no epidural—too high a risk of it spreading to my spine or brain. We canceled induction attempts and went home for the third time. I was terrified and did everything I could to slow my contractions.
Finally, a week later, my water broke. I was already five centimeters dilated. There was no turning back—I had to go natural. For eleven hours, he became my unwavering support. Exhausted, sleep-deprived, and scared, I realized in every moment how deeply I needed him in my life. We were a team, fully present with each other through every contraction.
When our daughter was born, I watched him cry. I had never seen him more vulnerable, more filled with love. And as I watched him smile at her gummy grin, my heart expanded in ways I hadn’t imagined.
Every day since, I’ve fallen in love with him a little more. He is my rock, my partner, my person—and together, we navigate the chaos and beauty of parenthood, strengthened by everything we endured.
