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As much as I tried not to, I couldn't help but feel like he was slipping away. It was like we were slowly becoming two strangers living on opposite sides of the globe.
Even with the ever-growing life inside me, a living testament to our connection, I couldn’t shake the feeling that our bond was fraying with each passing day. And with no way to know when Tony would be home for certain, I was left feeling stranded, floating aimlessly in a sea of doubt.
Typing out responses to Tony's emails had turned into a sort of ritual. A ritual of longing and frustration that was becoming harder to carry out with each passing day. I kept my replies impersonal, mirroring his own.Glad to hear he's doing betterorThat must be really hard for your mom. But every time I pressed send, I felt like I was leaving a piece of myself unsaid, like there was a whole other email waiting to burst forth from my heart.
I wanted to tell him how much I missed him, how the house felt empty without his laughter filling it. I wanted to tell him about my own worries, how I was juggling work and morning sickness that felt more like all-day sickness. But most of all, I wanted to tell him about our baby.
Every time I placed a hand over my belly, I was acutely aware of the secret I was keeping. A secret that felt heavier each day, bearing down on my soul. I longed to share this joy with him, to hear his voice brimming with excitement or shock or fear. Any emotion would do, as long as it was something.
Each day, however, I held my silence. Tony had enough on his plate without me adding to it. He was miles away, dealing with his own problems. The last thing he needed was me complicating things further.
But oh, how I missed him. I missed him with a depth that ached, a longing that seeped into my every thought. My heart felt empty with his absence, and the secret I was carrying felt like a constant whisper in my ear, growing louder with each passing day.
It wasn't just the morning sickness that was making me queasy. It was the emotional distance, the silence, and the secret, growing everyday just like our child.
I felt like a wreck. The nausea had grown worse and gripped me in a relentless stranglehold, making it impossible for me to function normally. It wasn't just in the mornings anymore. It lingered throughout the day, hovering over me like a dark cloud. I knew I had to do something about it, especially with my new role at work demanding so much of my attention.
I made a call to my doctor, explaining my situation. Her voice was comforting over the line, a calm presence amidst the storm of my worries. After hearing me out, she prescribed Phenergan, a nausea medication safe for pregnant women. She also cautioned me about my stress levels, reminding me of the risks associated with a diabetic pregnancy at an "advanced" age.
"Advanced age, huh?" I retorted, unable to resist the urge to give her a bit of sass. "Never thought I'd hear that phrase applied to me."
She laughed, but her tone sobered as she reinforced her point. "I know you, Jude. You're resilient, but remember, pregnancy isn't a sprint, it's a marathon. You have to pace yourself, okay?"
I promised her I would, but a small part of me felt a tinge of resentment. How was I supposed to manage stress when I was carrying a baby, missing the man I was in love with, and handling a promotion all at once?
After a couple of days on the medication, I felt a slight improvement. It wasn't miraculous, but at least I could get through the day without having to make a mad dash to the bathroom every few hours.
I looked at myself in the mirror, gave a half-hearted smile, and said, "Well, welcome to motherhood, Jude. Buckle up, it's gonna be a bumpy ride."
* * *
Before I knew it, it was the day of my parents’ arrival, and I was heading to the airport to pick them up, Sadie by my side as a source of comfort. My parents, Helen and Richard, were the epitome of what you'd imagine when you thought of "baby boomers." My dad, a former law professor still with a full head of silver hair, looked ever the intellectual, his glasses always perched precariously on the edge of his nose. My mom, a retired executive, was the picture of sophistication, always put together, and yet with a warmness about her that made her approachable.
"Darling!" my mom greeted, enveloping me in a tight hug. "God, I can’t believe how long it’s been!"
Dad ruffled Sadie's fur fondly before turning to me. "Good to see you, kiddo."
As we got into the car, the familiar, comforting chatter of my parents filled the space. Mom talked about the flight while Dad thought out loud about what he wanted for dinner. Yet they always had a way of knowing when something was wrong with me, and that day was no different.
"You seem a bit off, sweetheart," Mom noted, turning to study me in the front seat. "Is it the new job? It's not too stressful, is it?"
“No, not at all. I mean, it’s hard, but the good kind of hard.”
I tried my best to brush off her concerns, but Mom wasn't easily fooled. She gave me that scrutinizing look that only mothers can perfect.
"Is there a man involved?" she probed, and I nearly choked.
I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw my dad roll his eyes good-naturedly. "Helen, give her some space," he said.
"Well, I'm just asking," she responded, but her eyes stayed on me.
I let out a sigh. "No. I mean, yes. I mean… it’s complicated. Nothing I want to get into now." God, it felt like such a cliché. But how else to describe what was going on without plopping the truth down in front of them?
I expected more questions, but to my surprise, both of them nodded, their expressions softening. I felt a warmth spreading through my chest, a reminder of why I loved my parents so much. They might be nosy and overly concerned at times, but they always respected my decisions.
"Well, darling," Mom said, patting my shoulder, "just remember, no man is worth losing yourself over."
And just like that, our conversation moved onto lighter topics. But Mom's words lingered in my mind, a poignant reminder that life was full of twists and turns, and all I could do was buckle up and hang on.
