Bit the bullet and texted Dylan today. I hope this is the first step toward getting him involved in my little one’s life. After all, she’s half his.
I texted him Bella can’t wait to meet you.
Oh, yeah! If you didn’t read through the comments from yesterday, Bella was your top choice by a mile. And mamas, I think it’s perfect. After all, it means “beautiful.” What could my little girl be but beautiful? Perfect, beautiful, wanted. All babies are. I’d say I can’t wait to meet mine, but you know that’s not true.
I’ll wait as long as it takes.
Heard from Dylan. He didn’t call or stop by or anything, but he answered my text. I guess you can tell by my tone (can you tell someone’s tone on a blog?) that it wasn’t good news.
Of COURSE he says who’s Bella? And I say your daughter, silly!! He waits a long, long time, then comes back with what I expected: we broke up a year ago, if you’re pregnant, it can’t be mine, blah blah.
It! It! He has the nerve to call his child IT! I told him well, she’s yours, anyway, and he ends it with GET HELP. Yep, all caps.
As if I’m not trying to get help! Not to mention that he was the one who didn’t want me to do IVF. He told me “if it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be.” And when it finally is, Mr. I-Want-to-Be-a-Daddy is nowhere to be found.
Bella knows I’m upset. She was kicking and kicking all last night. I could see her thumping against my belly. I didn’t want to throw up because I didn’t want to upset her more, but I couldn’t help it. Poor anxious baby was twisting up my stomach and s q u e e e e z i n g my spine. Come on out of there, sweet pea.
I can’t take much more of this.