Paul had made comments about it during my pregnancy, but I missed the seriousness in his tone.

“I would prefer if you would have a C-section,” he’d told me.

It was my first pregnancy, and everything I knew about childbirth was through other people’s experiences.

“You’ll get back on your feet faster if you have a natural birth,” said my mother.

“I had a terrible experience with my wound healing after a C.S. I wish I’d had a natural birth,” said a friend of mine.

“The amount of pain I felt during labour! Wacha tu! I wished I had opted for an elective C.S,” said one of the girls at my baby shower.

They all had different views about which method they preferred. I listened to the mothers around me. I was sometimes scared by the stories they gave about their experiences. Paul also did his research and listened to whoever he listened to and decided that I shouldn’t have a child through natural birth.

As the delivery date drew nearer, this was a constant discussion. He threw in words like episiotomy and his concern that he wouldn’t enjoy intimacy with me again if I had a natural birth. I heard no concern for my well-being in his concerns, but I was too tired of the pregnancy by that time that I only wanted a safe delivery.

As fate would have it, I was like the Hebrew women in the good book who don’t labour for long. By the time I got to the hospital, I was too far along in labour, and there was no need for the surgery. Paul objected, but there was a stern midwife who prioritised the child and me.

It didn’t take too long to hear my baby’s first cry. It was a bouncing baby boy who weighed 3.8 kg. Paul’s smile returned when he saw the boy, but he acted weirdly towards me. I was discharged a day later and was equipped with lots of tips on how to take care of myself and the baby.

The next three months were occupied with adjusting to motherhood. Between struggling with latching issues and trying to increase my milk production, Paul’s concerns were the least of my problems. But that didn’t stop him from reminding me that I went against his wishes.

Months went by, the baby grew bigger and even started taking solid food, and I started to feel like a human again, not just a milk-producing machine that also responds to cries. I remember looking at myself in the mirror for the first time after a long while.

I had gained some curves around my hips, my breasts were definitely bigger, and I had some fat around my tummy, but my hair looked like a glorious mane. I was also glowing. I felt somewhat insecure about my chest and abdomen, but it wasn’t a big deal yet.

“How long did it take you to get back to being you?” I asked my mom-friend.

“What does ‘being you’ mean?” she asked.

“You know, feeling sexy and all.”

“Oh, that was quite a journey. First I felt fat, and then when I started losing weight my breasts got deflated. They only looked good with a bra on. It took a while to even enjoy physical intimacy,” she told me.

“What about down there?” I asked her.

“Kegel exercises came in handy, but mostly my husband was amazing throughout the journey of rediscovering that side of me. He made me feel hot even when I didn’t feel it, but eventually I got my confidence back,” she said.

“You’re lucky! Paul won’t touch me. He says I ruined everything by having a natural birth,” I confided in her.

“I’m so sorry he’s being so insensitive at a moment when you’re vulnerable. I hope you know that’s not true,” said my friend.

“I know, but it gets to me sometimes. I even looked up herbs that could help,” I told her.

“Hey! Don’t do that to yourself. You don’t need any extreme measures unless there’s a medical condition; trust your body,” she said.

Slowly, by slowly, I felt my old self return, although it was a mixture of the old me and a newer version. I hadn’t been a big girl before childbirth, so having curves was all new to me. I liked myself in my new wardrobe, but Paul didn’t seem to notice.

“You betrayed us. You went against my wishes,” he told me repeatedly.

Denying me physical intimacy was my punishment. I felt neglected and rejected. It felt like I was begging for something that shouldn’t be gotten that way. It weighed on me, and sometimes I wondered if I had just opted for surgery, things would have been different. My close friends were there to remind me that Paul was the unreasonable one, quickly.

“Are you sure he’s not cheating?” My best friend asked.

At first, my answer was no, but over the weeks, it turned into a ‘yes’ when I found condoms in his jacket and hotel receipts. I wasn’t going to stay with a cheater who was even neglecting me. I tried co-parenting with him, but he quickly reminded me that it was my fault that we were no longer together. Eventually, he stopped playing his role as a father, too.

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