Rebecca and I had a great relationship. We rarely argued and when we did we were quick to bury the hatchet. We went out for about a year before we finally got married, and married life with Bec was great. We were two professional people in the prime of our lives and I was in seventh heaven.
We had never really discussed children. Rebecca didn’t seem that eager to have kids and I wasn’t keen on the idea so I chose not to rock the boat by avoiding the topic entirely. Two years into our marriage Rebecca began mentioning that watching all of her friends having babies made her feel a little ‘left behind’. I comforted her as best I could without encouraging her (a fact I feel guilty about nowadays.)
Rebecca never struck me as the clucky type but it wasn’t long before she was cooing over other peoples’ kids and leafing longingly through the baby section of department store catalogues. My heart started to palpitate at the thought of having a child. I had always thought that we would remain D.I.N.K.s (Double Income No Kids) forever. I didn’t know what to do.
Finally the fateful day came when Rebecca confronted me about the issue. “Jason, I want to have a baby”, she stated, all glassy-eyed. I mumbled something and promptly made for the door. I took a long drive, all the while trying to regulate my breathing. This was a nightmare. I had the perfect marriage — so I thought — why was Bec trying to sabotage it?
In the weeks to come Rebecca confronted me again — several times — and for the first time we really fought. Bec tried to reason with me, arguing all the positives of having a ‘real family’. I argued all the benefits of being a couple without children but I could see we were both speaking different languages. Ultimately I came to the conclusion that if I wanted to keep Bec I would have to have a child. It couldn’t be so bad after all. I was making good money so that wasn’t an issue. Maybe it’d be kind of cool to guide a child into the world, watching them grow day by day. It took time but I talked myself into it — or I convinced myself that I had at least.
It was dinner at a mate’s house that restarted my panic attacks. I saw a couple who appeared tired and — truth be told — a little disenfranchised from one another. I feared that the same would happen to Rebecca and me. I began to worry once again. My friend Simon joked that he was getting a vasectomy and a little light switched on in my head. That was it! I could do this quietly and Bec would be none the wiser. We’d try to conceive and fail and that would be it. I might even go for a fertility test sometime later and come back with the result that I was sterile. She couldn’t blame me. It wouldn’t be my fault if she didn’t know I’d had the operation. I plotted and planned, ironing out every little detail. Before long I was ready and I did it. I had to convince the surgeon that I had talked it through with my wife and after a brief operation, it was done.
A month or so down the track I surprised Bec with a romantic dinner at her favourite restaurant and whispered that we should try to get pregnant. Her face lit up and my stomach sank. I felt not relief, but disgust at what I had done. But all the same, I kept up the facade.
After a while, naturally Bec became upset when she wasn’t pregnant. She became moody and she would just fly off the handle for no reason. One day she screamed at me for leaving a towel on the bathroom floor and I blurted out the truth. I told her that she had put so much pressure on me that I felt there was no other choice. In short — I blamed her.
Rebecca and I aren’t together anymore, in fact we don’t speak. We’ve been apart for two years and if I could reverse the whole thing, I would in a heartbeat. What I did was selfish and wrong. I saw her last week at the supermarket with a new man and a beautiful baby. When I saw her — saw how beautiful and complete she looked — my heart felt like it would burst. I felt so full of regret. I’ll never forgive myself for what I have done.
Picture posed by model.
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