Off The Record
My Husband Went On A “Boys’ Trip” While I Recovered From A C-Section—When He Came Home, He Went Pale
My husband expected to enter our front door as if nothing had happened when he got back from his week-long trip. Instead, he discovered a person with a furious face and a bright yellow bag obstructing his path. Every tear I shed was worth it when I saw the terrified expression on his face.
In hindsight, I should have recognized Jason’s character issues long before we were married.
He had always been the kind of person who prioritized his friends and offered justifications when things were difficult.
I dismissed it as him being youthful and carefree when we were dating. I convinced myself that he would change after marriage and mature as a result of responsibilities.
Jason seemed different for a bit after we were engaged. He spoke excitedly about our future and made all the necessary commitments to be a wonderful husband.
“We’re going to be such a great team, Claudia,” he would say while he held my hands and gazed into my eyes. “I can’t wait to build a life with you.”
I had full faith in him. I wanted to think he was real.
Eight months after our wedding, Jason was ecstatic when I became pregnant. I thought maybe this was it because hubby took the time to carefully assemble the cot and paint the nursery a gentle shade of yellow on the weekends. Perhaps he would finally be the responsible man I had always hoped for if he became a father.
“This baby is going to have the best daddy in the world,” he would say at night to my expanding womb. He discussed everything he wanted to educate our child while reading parenting literature. Seeing how excitedly he prepared for fatherhood throughout those months filled me with hope.
Then reality set in.
At 37 weeks, my pregnancy took a bad turn. When problems emerged, what was intended to be a vaginal birth turned into an emergency C-section.
Thanks to the speedy work of the doctors, our lovely daughter Emma was born healthy. However, I was weak, sore, and totally reliant on other people to do even the most basic things after the surgery.
Jason had reassured me, “Don’t worry, babe,” while I lay in the hospital bed, still feeling dazed from the anesthesia. “When we return home, I’m going to look after you and Emma so well. Please just concentrate on getting better.”
Sleepless nights, difficult incision care, and learning how to nurse characterized those first few days at home.
Jason offered some assistance, but it was obvious that he was uneasy and overwhelmed.
He never took the initiative, but he did change his diapers when I asked him to. When Emma was calm, he would hold her, but as soon as she began to cry, he would return her to me.
The phrase “I think she wants her mommy” became his go-to response in difficult situations.
I was really worn out by the fourth week. I could hardly move from the bedroom to the kitchen without squirming since my incision was still healing.
Jason stated the most surprising thing ever at that point.
One morning, Jason said nonchalantly, “So, Tom got that promotion he’s been working toward,” without even raising his head from his phone. “The boys want to go to the beach for a week to celebrate. It sounds fantastic.”
I waited for the joke while I looked at him. My heart skipped a beat when none arrived.
I remarked, “That’s nice for Tom,” with caution. “When are they planning to go?”
“Next week. Tom can finally afford to treat himself to a good resort, so the timing couldn’t be more ideal. It’s going to be enjoyable.”
“Jason,” I whispered softly, “you’re not seriously thinking about going, are you?”
When he eventually raised his head, I could immediately see the defensive look taking shape. “Why don’t I go? Only a week. For my best friend Tom, this is a huge thing.”
I had the impression that I was in a bad dream. “Because four weeks ago your wife underwent significant surgery? Since I can hardly walk pain-free to the mailbox? since our newborn requires both of her parents.”
Jason sighed as if I were being crazy and put down his phone.
“You’re doing fantastic with Emma, baby. And if you need anything, my mom said she could help. Only seven days remain.”
“Jason, your mom lives an hour away. And because my husband ought to be here, I shouldn’t require assistance.” I couldn’t stop myself from raising my voice. “The baby is the only weight I can lift.” I’m not yet able to drive. Why even ask this question?
“Look, I’ve been stressed too, okay?” Jason got to his feet and began to pace. “We are both feeling overwhelmed by the whole new parent thing. Perhaps everyone would benefit from a brief respite.”
A rest? Did he desire a vacation from his wife, who was barely able to care for herself, and their four-week-old daughter?
“Fine,” I replied. “Leave. Enjoy your trip.”
Jason’s expression brightened as if he had won the lottery. “Really? Are you cool with it?”
It didn’t sit well with me. It would never be acceptable to me. However, I was also aware that continuing to argue would simply paint me as the antagonist in his tale.
As if nothing had occurred, he planted a kiss on my forehead. “Claudia, you are the greatest. I swear, I’ll make it up to you when I return.”
The following morning, as I stood there with our sobbing kid, I watched from the window as my husband’s Uber drove away, carrying him to the airport.
I had the longest seven days of my life during the week Jason was gone.
I awoke every morning with the hope that it was all a nightmare and that my husband hadn’t truly deserted me at my most vulnerable moment. Emma would weep, though, and reality would hit me hard once more.
The initial days were tough. During her growth spurt, Emma wanted to nurse all the time.
Hours passed while I stayed in the same chair, terrified to move due to the pain.
There weren’t many texts from Jason. “I’m having so much fun! “Weather is perfect!” appeared with a picture of him and Tom on the beach, holding beers.
“Best seafood ever!” was the description for a photo of a nice dinner that was posted another day.
As Emma wailed in my arms and my shirt was splattered with spit, I gazed at those pictures and wondered how he could be so cut off from the events at home.
I was running on adrenaline and desperation on the fifth day.
I had made two calls to Margaret, his mother, but I felt bad about asking for assistance. This wasn’t her job; she was too busy with her own life. Her son was in charge of everything, and he had put his beach holiday ahead of his family.
Emma getting a small temperature on day six was the worst part. In a panic, I dialed the pediatrician. I felt very afraid and alone, even though the nurse explained what to look out for.
I made three calls to Jason that evening. None of them received an answer from him.
It was time for him to return home at last.
He had left his flight information on the kitchen counter as an afterthought, so I knew it. When you haven’t slept for more than two hours at a stretch for seven days, it’s almost impossible to appear presentable, so I spent the morning trying.
I still harbored the hope that Jason might enter the room repentant and prepared to make amends.
At 3 p.m., I heard the automobile in the driveway.
I was watching through the window when my heart began to race. In stark contrast to the weary, stressed-out woman who had been waiting for him, Jason emerged from the Uber looking comfortable and tanned.
However, something caught my attention and caused me to pause. Another vehicle was parked in my driveway. Margaret owned it.
There she was, standing on my front doorstep, her face wearing the most determined look I had ever seen. As if she intended to remain for a while, a bright yellow luggage was sitting next to her.
Jason smiled as he walked toward the front entrance, but his face turned white the instant he noticed his mother in the way.
“Mom?” Jason’s voice broke like if he were a teenager once more. “What are you doing here?”
Margaret put her feet firmly down and crossed her arms. “You’re not coming into this house until we have a serious conversation, Jason.”
Jason stepped back, his self-assured vacation glow quickly vanishing.
“Don’t do this, Mom. Not in this place.” Jason looked around uneasily, as though the neighbors were observing this altercation.
The words “Oh, I’m absolutely doing this here,” were spoken by Margaret. “You spent a whole week playing beach volleyball with your friends while your wife, who recently underwent major surgery, was left alone with a newborn. How harmful may that have been, do you know?”
Tears began to well up in my eyes as I stood holding Emma just inside the front door. It had been a long time since anyone had defended me in this way.
“It wasn’t dangerous,” Jason muttered. “Claudia is doing well. The infant is doing well. Everything went smoothly.”
“Everything worked out?” Margaret’s voice grew louder than I had ever heard it. “Your wife was so overwhelmed and afraid that she phoned me twice this week, Jason. You were too busy sipping cocktails to answer your phone, so she had to deal with a fever scare all by herself.”
Jason’s cheeks turned red instead of pale. “I was away on vacation! I was due for a respite.”
“You deserved a break?” Jason actually staggered backward as Margaret took a step forward. “Your wife was entitled to a spouse. You should have given your daughter a father. However, when they most needed you, they were abandoned.”
My voice sounded weak and wobbly, but I had finally found it. “Jason, Margaret is correct. When I was hardly able to care for myself, let alone a newborn, you left me.”
Jason’s gaze turned to mine in desperation. “Come on, baby. Don’t join forces with my mother against me. It was only a week.”
“One week that felt like a lifetime,” I said. “There was a week when I had a lot of questions about our marriage. I came to the realization one week that you should flee when things get difficult.”
Margaret gestured toward her yellow travel bag. “I brought two weeks’ worth of clothing. I’ll stay here and take care of Claudia if you’re not prepared to be a husband and father. However, you can’t just waltz back in here and like nothing happened.”
Jason glanced between me and his mother, obviously seeing that his normal charm and justifications would not work this time.
He eventually murmured, “This is ridiculous,” but his voice had lost all of its strength.
“What’s ridiculous is a grown man who thinks a vacation is more important than his family’s well-being,” Margaret replied. “Jason, I brought you up better than this. Your dad would feel embarrassed.”
Jason started to feel hurt at that point. I was aware that the comparison would be painful because his father had died three years prior.
Jason remained there for a long time. At last he walked back toward the street and turned around.
“Where are you going?” I yelled out to him.
He said, “To Tom’s,” without turning around. “Because I’m not welcome in my own home anymore.”
Margaret turned to me, tears in her eyes, as his second Uber of the day pulled away. “Honey, I’m very sorry. I didn’t bring him up to desert his family in this manner.”
I sobbed more intensely than I had in the entire week. Margaret pulled Emma out of my arms and gave me the coziest hug I had felt in months.
Whispering, “You’re not alone anymore,” she said. “Not ever again.”
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