Whose Fault? (Editing)

Chapter Twenty-Two

But not even that memory could have forced me out of bed on this day. Dad's death. Another year had gone by without him here with me and this one seemed more painful than all the others. I felt like I needed him and his guidance and support more than ever.

Max knocked on my door a few times throughout the day to check on me, but I never responded. He knew that if I didn't respond that this was the only day of every year in which I really needed to be left alone.

I spent the entire day grieving my father and getting stuck in terrible thoughts about how disappointed he would be in me for letting things get this far and for this to happen. I knew if he was here, he would support me and love the baby and being a grandfather but he probably would have wished that it would have happened for me later in my life. I bawled at those thoughts and the memory of that day; they tortured my brain. I couldn't help the reaction. I couldn't help but feel like maybe I wouldn't be so... lost if he was still around.

We were headed to the doctors for another appointment; I had to get some blood work done for some kind of sugar exam and was told that we would be there longer than usual for this appointment.

After going through the regular routine of things during every monthly appointment, they had me drink something called Glucola—it was really sweet and I wasn't too fond of it—then I waited an hour and had my blood drawn. When they finished up, I made my next appointment, then Max and I left for home.

"You don't have to stay here with me. I'm okay, you know that, right?" I asked Max when we got home. I wasn't actually okay, but he didn't need to know that. As long as I had kept myself busy, I was fine and that's all that really mattered.

"Oh no! You two are stuck with me, whether you like it or not," I nodded and that was the end of the conversation.

~~~

By 32 weeks pregnant, I'd added shortness of breath and liquids coming out of my body that I didn't know would at that point to the ever-growing list of things I was experiencing. I also would get something called Braxton Hicks contractions. I hated them. They felt like a much more intense version of cramping, but they only lasted a few minutes; they usually stopped soon after I started feeling them because I'd start to freak out as if something was wrong every time they happened and I'd always move almost right away which helped lessen the pain. Movement helped them go away quicker, but the pain lingered for a while. The Braxton Hicks didn't happen often, maybe a few times a week but it always terrified me.

Max made sure he was no more than five feet away from me at all times. Since he didn't know when they were going to happen, he got used to keeping a close eye on how I moved around and my facial expressions. Apparently my reaction was similar every time, he explained it to me once. When I'd first notice it, I'd quietly freak out and start crying as I froze in place for a second as if I was processing it, then I'd turn around or lean a different way until it went away. He usually caught me when I'd suddenly stop whatever I'm doing and tense up. He'd gotten really good at calming me down when it happened or whenever I was upset.

With everything that was going on, I was getting behind on my to-do list and I was beginning to lose it, "Max, I still have to put the car seat in the car and build the crib and changing table! Then I have to put the clothes away and find a place for bottles and things!" This isn't good. That's a lot of big things to accomplish in a short amount of time! "Oh! My! God! I still have to name her!!"

This is not good. This is not good!

How could I have let naming her slip my mind? I'm so stupid!

"Wren, take a breath. It's okay, eight weeks is plenty of time. You can do this, I'll help you with it and we'll get it done. We can start the second we pull into the driveway, okay?"