“Entangled in Domesticated Love” by Mia W. Jones – in publication July 6, 2020. Available on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Apple Store and other retail chains.
So, I am well into my second trimester and Latimore and I are on two different spectrums. We are not communicating well at all. He is not supporting me in the sense that I need to be touched, loved. He thinks us having sex while I am pregnant will hurt the baby. I am asking him to talk to me. I am a talker. If there is a problem, put it on the table and let us talk. Latimore, I found out, is the exact opposite. Will not talk at all. He just walks away, after already causing damage on a mental level. Having you standing there wanting to know why. What was the problem in the first place?
Mind you, I am pregnant. Being hormonal is expected. They say each pregnancy is different – truth. I spent most of my first pregnancy in the hospital as my son was trying to come out of the sac. High risk pregnancies are hard, I think more so emotionally because everyone wants to have a risk-free pregnancy, free of drama, and have normal healthy babies. For the second time I am going through emotions again due to another high-risk pregnancy. Hello. I am asking and screaming for attention, for love. I really needed to feel wanted, safe and secure that everything was going to be okay. We are married. He said he loved me, so I am begging, asking him to let us talk and figure this out.
The conversation starts to get out of hand and now we are arguing. Voices rising and the next thing I know, I am falling down the stairs. He pushed me. My mind is like frozen and I’m saying to myself “He pushed me? This man who started off so loving and kind and gentle. HE pushed me!” I am mad. I am really upset. Rightfully so. I am sleeping upstairs, and he is sleeping on the couch. I should have held him accountable, but I did not. I am young with one young child and another on the way. I stay put. It is a Mexican stand-off in our house. Each of us in a neutral corner and the emotional abuse is horrific. No communication, no intimacy. At this point I am even going to the doctors getting prescriptions from my obstetrician to have intercourse with my own husband. What in God’s green earth was I thinking?