I devoted an entire post to my feelings about the 2nd Chris. What about the 1st Chris, you ask?
I met him in 2003 or 2004. Seems like a lifetime ago, a decade of decades. We were young, emotional, and looking for something different. We both had past relationship and life hiccups, apples to oranges though.
I wanted a relationship. I wanted that happily ever after, and he provided what looked a lot like it. We threw ourselves into each other’s lives. We were hardly ever apart, an obsessive love affair.
We met in the early summer of 2004…yes, 2004. I was pregnant by the first of the next year. Everything stopped. He had proposed before we knew about the pregnancy. I’d said yes. I had a beautiful ring that I wore on a chain, Carrie Bradshaw-esque. Maybe that was a sign. But, now I’m pregnant. And, I just want to be pregnant.
The world’s view of the young single mother didn’t phase me. We were gonna get married later. No shotgun ceremony with me waddling down the aisle praying my water didn’t break. I’m not interested. I’m just gonna be pregnant. I wanted 100% of my attention to be focused on my ever growing cluster of cells. I justified my reasons. I stood strong in my decision. But, I never consulted the 1st Chris. It was never our decision. I wouldn’t entertain anything about a wedding. I ignored and disregarded his feelings. He was hurt by that, understandably so. Then everything erupted.
Our fun relationship became a power struggle. It was laced with intimidation and strong will. It was awful and miserable, but I was stuck. I was having his baby. I’d committed to this family. I wasn’t supposed to be a single mother. But, I was building a wall and sinking into a depression. My health was suffering. My blood pressure was constantly high. I was high strung, stressed out, and falling apart.
I spent 6 weeks on bed rest. I expected to be adored and caterer too, but I wasn’t in that type of relationship. We were on a roller coaster. It was an insane relationship without medical attention. It was truly insane. And by the end of my pregnancy, the aggression was worse. I didn’t quite know how to be a victim or diffuse our conflicts, and I didn’t know how to win either. I came home from the hospital hopeful though. We both were. We wanted this family. Quickly, the bad was back. Things were said that couldn’t be taken back. I couldn’t subject my son to this toxic situation.
8 weeks after I delivered my son, I turned off my life as I knew it and escaped the situation. We came back home. Dallas, Texas was in my rear view mirror. A new, desperately familiar life, awaited in East Texas.
Our relationship didn’t improve. He was angry I “ran away,” and I was furious I didn’t have an option to stay. We were done. I was done. And after many antidepressants, yoga classes, meditation exercises, and curse words the 1st Chris and I can tolerate each other. We are NOT friends. We are simply parents.
Chris is now married to a lovely woman and has two girls. His children are my son’s sisters, and I love those girls like my own. We aren’t over all our hurdles, and we may never be. But, we put the past away for the sake of the kids. We are a family anyway, not the one I envisioned, but it some how works.