The fight

I still don’t understand what happened and maybe I never will. But I remember it all like it was yesterday.

Dave comes home and I’m making dinner. He goes to the computer, only a few feet away in our small one bedroom apartment, to take care of a few things.

He asks me “what are you doing?”
“I’m making dinner.”
“Well stop.”

I got excited for a minute because Dave often liked to surprise me and go to random places at the drop of a hat. Very spontaneous and exciting. So I ask “Why?”

“Because I’m not hungry.”

My eyes got wide, my mouth dropped, eyebrows raised. My mind races. Did he seriously just say that? I worked all day today too, just the same as him. I’m pregnant and making him dinner. Does he even realize that I have to eat, for two people! How rude, how thoughtless! Does he even care about me, about the baby?

My mind moves too fast to know what to say. I’m hurt, frustrated, scared, confused and mad. All of this comes out as mad and rude.

“Did you ever think that I might be hungry?” asshole

My mind continues to race. I do everything around here. I clean the house, vacuum, do the laundry and dishes, take care of the 2 cats including clean the litter box even though I’m not supposed to because I’m pregnant. But he won’t do it and then the cats find other places to go. I work a full time job on my feet all day long chasing 3 year olds. I pay all of our bills. I’m the contact person for the realtor and lending guy for the house we’re trying to buy. I asked him to do that but he’s not doing it. I’m trying SO hard to make things happen and to make him happy. I go out to night clubs with him to hang out and dance; even though I’m exhausted and I can’t even drink. I go bowling with him and his friends staying out until after midnight on a week night. I’m 29 and pregnant. I’m not 22 and in college. But I go along and I put on a happy face and had a great time. Why? To make him happy. I thought it would be nice to come home to someone making you dinner. And he can’t even think of the fact that I have to eat!? The most basic need for any person, much less a pregnant one! HA! Well, I can forget about my higher needs being meet then, huh?

All I can muster is “I’m worried.”
“Worried about what?”
“Worried that this isn’t going to work.”
“It’s not, I’m not happy.”

What the hell did he just say!? He’s not happy…What the fuck could possibly be so terrible for HIM that HE’S not happy!? I try to put my shock, hurt, and anger aside to find out what’s wrong, what’s really going on.

I ask as nicely as I possibly can “Why aren’t you happy?”
“This isn’t what I want”
“What isn’t what you want?”
“THIS”
I’ve lost all patience at this point. My blood is boiling my heart is racing. “What this!? Be specific. The house? The Baby? What!?”
“Yes, all of it”

Part of me died in that moment. Three months earlier Dave had told me the same thing. “This isn’t what I want.” The first time, I reacted calmly but it was obvious I was hurt. I told him to figure it out. Decide what he wanted and let me know. He went for a drive for a few hours, I took a hot bath. He came home with a box of my favorite chocolates that I thought you could only find at valentines. He said he still didn’t know what he wanted though. A few days later at a club he tells me that this is what he wants, that he loves me more than anything in the world and that he wants all of this. I was so relieved and I thought we had put it all behind us. Things were great up until a few weeks before the fight.

So that night when he is telling me AGAIN that he doesn’t want this, I’m not so understanding and patient.

In a calm, low voice I say “Get the fuck out.”

His face drops, his eyes get wide with shock. I suppose from his point of view I can understand why he would be shocked. But from my point of view, how much can I really be expected to take? And I think that he does need a shock. We’re having a baby!! He can’t come in and out of the baby’s life. He needs to know, and I need to know that he’s all the way in this, that he knows what he wants.

He doesn’t move. I’m becoming more and more frustrated and say “get out, get out, get out. I’m not kidding, get out.”

Dave goes to the bathroom and the bedroom to get some things. My mind races faster than ever. Does he think he can just keep changing his mind? How can he do this to me, to our baby!? What if this keeps happening? I have to do something to make his decide for good that this IS what he wants.

“You know what, why don’t you pack a bag and don’t come back until you know what you want.”
“Well I was planning to move out on Saturday anyways. But I wanted to talk to you about it first.”

I’m devastated. He’s been planning this all along? How long has he been thinking about this? Why didn’t he talk to me sooner? Saturday is 3 days away! I cover my hurt with anger.

“No, you’ve lost that privilege.” I go to get some shoes. I just can’t be there anymore. I walk passed him in the bathroom. “You really are a bastard, you know that?” I say through my tears.

I drive down the road and park behind a closed down restaurant so I can see his car go by and know its ‘safe’ to go home.

When I get home I break down even more, falling to the floor crying. Crying, making sounds I’ve never heard come out of me. Crying so hard that my stomach began to hurt in a way I’d never felt before. THE BABY! I have to clam down; I have to get a hold of myself. I go and lie in our bed and try to clam down.

I never did eat dinner; I spent the night crying.

For the next week or better I try everything I can to talk to Dave. I apologize for the way I reacted to him and try to explain where I was coming from. He refuses to change his mind.