Chapter 5 - The Silent Trimester
The third trimester is usually a time of chaos and anxiety, but for me, it became a sanctuary. Without my mother's constant interference, Ryan and I bonded in a way we never had before.
We painted the nursery a soft sage green, refusing the suffocating pink my mother had tried to force upon us. We spent evenings reading books to my growing belly. We attended birthing classes holding hands, laughing when we fumbled the swaddling techniques.
For the first time in my life, I wasn't managing my mother's emotions. I was only managing my own.
I finally understood what a pregnancy was supposed to feel like: intimate. It wasn't a performance. It wasn't a community project. It was the quiet, profound transition of two people becoming three.
When I hit 38 weeks, my dad called. I hadn't spoken to him much either, as he was intrinsically tied to her drama.
“She’s struggling, kiddo,” he said, his voice tired. “She realizes she might not be in the waiting room when the baby is born.”
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“She won't be,” I said gently but firmly. “Dad, I love you. But this is our birth. We will call you when we are ready.”
He sighed, but for the first time, he didn't argue. “Okay. Have a safe delivery. I’m proud of you.”
