I’m not like all these women who dream of becoming mothers from a young age. I didn’t play mother-daughter as a child, I didn’t imagine myself as a heroine mother or a participant in a TV show about pregnant women. But life has made its own adjustments, forever changing my fate. At the age of twenty-nine, I found out that I was pregnant.
Friends as one advised to give birth, because children are such happiness, they say this is my last chance, because the clock is ticking. I’m sure every woman has at least once heard about this ill-fated clock that never stops ticking. Because of my stupidity, I agreed to give birth. My life was a complete mess.
I divorced my husband, nothing worked out with my job, the dream of becoming a professional actress blurred like a snowman in July. I thought that a child would help me look at life differently, give me a new meaning. I’ve probably never been so wrong before.
The pregnancy was difficult, I was hospitalized five times with the threat of miscarriage. Every time I lay down for safekeeping and secretly hoped that I would not give birth, that a miscarriage would happen. I had no reverence for ultrasound images, heart rate recordings. I wanted to pack my things and go to the sea, hang out there and forget about all the problems.
Tens of thousands were spent on drugs, pills, injections, payment for the ward. And there was childbirth ahead. I suffered for fifteen hours with contractions and gave birth for a very long time. The doctors refused to do a caesarean, promised that I would give birth myself. They also dissuaded from epidural anesthesia, emphasizing that it is extremely harmful to the child and it is not worth it.
Olya screamed, they put her on top of me. I didn’t want to hug her, to calm her down. I asked to remove the child, and the woman immediately picked up my daughter. The maternal instinct did not wake up. My friends said that I would forget all the pain after the birth of my daughter, but I didn’t forget anything.
It feels like an umbrella was inserted into me and there it was jerkily opened or the coccyx was knocked out with a hammer. The whole body was moved like a skating rink, I wanted to die right there.
On the fourth day we were discharged, and I returned home. The nightmare began. My whole life obeyed a tiny lump that was constantly crying. I couldn’t leave the house, go to the store, go down for the mail. Getting older, Olya cried a little less, but sores and minor troubles began.
Sometimes I sit on the playground and watch her play. I look at other mothers with children. They are so sensitive to their babies, I would like Olya to receive so much love too. She’s a child and it’s not her fault that she has such a mother. At the age of two, she learned to play by herself, to spend time by herself. He sits quietly and plays with plastic dinosaurs.
She used to come up to hug, now she has already realized that this is a rare phenomenon. I see her growing up unsociable, aloof. More and more often I think that I should take her to an orphanage. After all, it will make us both feel better. She will find a loving family, and I will be able to return to normal life, restore my career and just enjoy freedom. I have to see a lawyer tomorrow and discuss legal issues.
Having a baby was the biggest mistake of my life. I didn’t want to do anything anymore, get carried away with anything. I just lost interest in life with the advent of my daughter. Another person has appeared, with his own desires and needs, which I am unable to satisfy.
I hoped that feelings would appear, but nothing has changed in two years. Putting her in an orphanage would be the best solution. There she will understand that there are people who can give love and bring joy. I can’t give her anything, and I don’t want to. Probably, the child has become a punishment for me, somewhere in my life I’ve done a lot of mischief and now I’m sorting it out. Only the child should not suffer from this.