This blog is my story...my truth...the real truth that is known by one person, and one person alone.
His name is Steve.
In order to get to where I am today, and to get to Steve, it is imperative to lay out some history.
I am 30, married, and have two children. I have been married over 11 years, and was 3 months pregnant with my oldest on my wedding day.
My children are my biggest accomplishment, they bring me joy that words can not describe.
However, I am not leading the life I had fantasized about as a little girl. In my daydreams, I was never sitting on a bathroom floor sobbing over a pregnancy test at the age of 18, almost 19. I was never planning a wedding that was the "right thing to do" because I was pregnant. I was never doing a lot of things that I have done.
Yes, I had been engaged. My husband proposed to me on my 18th birthday, and it was almost a year later that I became pregnant. It wasn't like we hadn't been together for awhile, it wasn't like there wasn't a level of commitment. After mustering up the courage to tell my mother that I was pregnant, she immediately, without really asking how I felt, planned a wedding. At one point I tried objecting, in a passive, last ditch effort to halt the preparations. I was met with a hard glance, and told "You have been engaged. So what if this is sooner than you would like? You shouldn't have gotten pregnant then."
End of discussion.
One could argue that I was an adult, that I could have NOT DONE IT. Yet, I believed that my younger than young acting fiance and I could do this. That he would mature. Grow up. That I would be fine. That a baby is a blessing, and would be the glue that held us together. And for some reason, disappointing my mother didn't seem to be an option. I still feel that way today.
I will NEVER forget the day that my mother's husband, a PASTOR, looked at me and said "I bet this marriage doesn't last more than 5 years...you are both so young." There is nothing like a challenge to make me feisty, and I I didn't respond to his comment, yet thought to myself "WATCH ME." I have stubbornly clung to the satisfaction that I proved him wrong, yet, I didn't. I really didn't. On the outside, yes, I passed that 5 year mark, and then passed it again. On the inside though...that is a different story.
The wedding planning is a blur, I really didn't do much. I answered questions, approved a few things, and meanwhile grasped the fact that this was my life...all while throwing up constantly with morning sickness. The word MORNING is such a lie when it comes to morning sickness.
Wedding dress shopping was the WORST. The absolute worst. My paternal grandma, my mom, and sister and I all trekked around looking at dresses. My mom was being cheap about the whole matter, I didn't have anything to contribute. I had been living on my own for almost a year, had been working full time, but it wasn't like I had much left over after rent and a car payment. My grandma and I had rebuilt our relationship only two years prior after 8 years of her not wanting anything to do with my sisters and myself because our mother who had left her son. It didn't matter that he beat her, didn't matter that he is CRAZY, she was mad at our mother and that was that.
Grandma and I today have a great relationship, but back then we were still essentially getting to know each other. And when I overheard her tell my mom that "A GIRL IN MY CONDITION SHOULD NOT WEAR WHITE ON HER WEDDING DAY", I easily could have smothered her in taffeta, lace, and silk that was plentiful at the bridal store.
The whole thing was so fucking unfair. I looked around this large bridal store at these girls, and their mothers who were TICKLED to be there. Taking pictures, scrutinizing every detail of the dresses. THOSE MOMS weren't asking for the clearance section, or saying loudly "who needs it altered, I can just cut off the bottom layer and hem it myself." THOSE MOMS were relaxed, not rushed, excited. THOSE MOMS were creating a moment, a special memory.
I couldn't stand it. So when I found a dress that was something I could live with, it was in the price range that mom had in mind, and it fit then and would fit in a month if I had started showing a little, I settled. I have NEVER wanted to get out of a store so fast in my life.
The day of my wedding was nothing too special. I remember being annoyed with how often I had to pee, because doing it in a wedding dress REQUIRES HELP. I just went through the motions. My flowers were the wrong color, I spoke up, and was hushed because it was too late to do anything about it.
The music was wonderful, there were more people there than I could have imagined. People that didn't care for members of my family were there because of ME. That felt good. There were parts of the service that to this day raise my blood pressure, and parts that still warm my heart. It is what it is, and it wasn't what I had ever imagined.
The reception was beyond lame, and when it was time to go I was so relieved. We headed out to a hotel room that my husband's parents had paid for, and there we were. That was it. Obligatory just married sex occurred, nothing mind blowing though. We headed out the next day to the coast, where we spent a week at a house in the dead of winter, with not a whole heck of a lot to do. We enjoyed each other's company, talked about our future. Imagined our baby. We did little day trips around where we were staying, played board games, cooked, rested, and just relaxed.
It felt okay then. I could see this being okay. So what that my wedding wasn't what I had wanted. It is just a ceremony, right? Just a formality. It had nothing to do with what our marriage would be, nothing to do with US.
The next two years were a blur. Job changes, moving into a rental house, and then buying our first home when I was 20. Being parents to a beautiful baby boy. My husband is a hard worker, and that was great. I worried about child care, my part time job, bills, housework, basically everything, yet he worked hard for our little family.
Things gradually shifted though. He was ridiculously irresponsible, and that was a huge strain on our marriage. Bank cards were left in cash machines (we are talking about 5 times, not 1), calling cards in pay phones, I could go on and on. It was always SOMETHING. Our sex life sucked. When we were dating it was good, it was even good while I was pregnant...until I was put on bed rest. Now, I am not saying it was MIND BLOWING, but acceptable. And to me at the time, it was great. I knew nothing better.
After our son was born, I worked hard to get to my pre-pregnancy weight, and did so rather fast. Mind you I wasn't thin, I have definitely been curvy since high school, but I was at a good point after the baby.
He didn't care. It didn't matter. I introduced some things back into our bedroom that we had dabbled with in high school...a bit of porn, a few toys. It never seemed to be enough. I worked hard outside of the bedroom thinking that would help. I would make his lunches, make sure that he came home to a sparkly clean house, with a happy adorable baby, and a dolled up wife. Never without makeup, never in sweats. He was never unappreciative, but if felt like living with a friend. The spark was not there.
I remember clearly an afternoon in when we were nearing our 2nd wedding anniversary. I had the baby napping, and put on something crazy sexy. Not lingerie, but not something you would wear in public either. He walked into our room, looked at me, and announced that he wanted to go to work early. And left.
I sat there and cried, in my scandalous outfit. I knew at that very moment that things were not okay. That he was a wonderful dad, a good provider, a good friend, but we were clearly on different pages when it came to sex.
It came as no surprise that a few months later I found myself in a situation I had NEVER, EVER thought I would be in.
An affair.
To be continued...
