The next few months seemed to blur together. One long, beautiful countdown to the day I’d finally meet my Beautiful Surprise. Every ultrasound, every flutter, every tiny hiccup made me fall deeper in love with someone I hadn’t even met yet.

By then, I’d settled into my new job and slipped into this rhythm of building what I thought was our forever life. Mr. Giant was finishing his season, and between games, we were finalizing details for our house…flooring, fixtures, countertops, all of it. Every choice felt symbolic, like we were carefully crafting the backdrop of our happy ending.

When the house was finally complete, we set a closing date. He took time off to fly in for the final walkthrough, and I remember watching him sign those papers, thinking, this is it. This is the chapter where everything finally falls into place. Once we lived under the same roof, I believed all our problems would just… disappear.

We spent days furniture shopping and debating over decor, though he’d be gone again before any of it was delivered. It was April when we closed, and with my due date in July, I was determined to have everything ready before our baby boy arrived. Between doctor’s appointments, work, furniture deliveries and setting up the nursery, I was running on pure hope…just holding on until he came back once the season ended.

And he did. Just in time for the biggest moment of our lives.

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The Day Everything Changed

One morning before work, I woke up with an urgent need to pee. I swung my legs off the bed — and didn’t make it to the bathroom. Shocked and confused, I just stood there for a second, trying to process what was happening. Did my water just break?

I yelled for Mr. Giant. “I think we need to go to the hospital!”

At the hospital, they confirmed it. My water had broken, but I wasn’t in labor. Apparently, that’s a thing! They started me on medication to induce, and so began 20 long, exhausting hours. My mom never left my side.

Mr. Giant was there for most of it until things took a turn. When the doctors said I’d need an emergency C-section, I saw the concern flash across his face, but the next thing I knew, I was in the operating room and my mom was right there with me.

Hours later, my son was here. Perfect. Healthy. Mine.

My mom stayed with me every night in the hospital, sleeping in that tiny chair, rubbing my swollen feet, adjusting pillows, whispering prayers. Mr. Giant, on the other hand, said he was “too big for that couch,” and left to pick up his family from the airport and returned home.

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When Love Turns Heavy

His mom, his sister, and her two young kids came to visit and meet the newest member of the family. His sister was sweet and genuinely happy for us, but his mother… there was a chill in her smile I couldn’t quite explain.

Everyone kept saying how much the baby looked like his dad. The same eyes, lips, the same little smirk. But when his sister said it, his mom’s response was, “Oh, I don’t know who he looks like…yet.”

It sounded innocent enough, but the tone said otherwise. It was subtle, but I felt a sting of doubt, that put a little crack in the joy I’d been holding onto.

And that was just the beginning of moments just like that.

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New Life, New Lessons

Once we brought the baby home, I was overwhelmed with love. I didn’t want to sleep, didn’t want to eat I just wanted to stare at him, memorize his face, breathe him in.

But that peaceful new-mom bubble popped the moment his sister walked into my room and took him right out of my arms.

I froze. My body still ached from the C-section, but my heart… it cracked a little in that moment. I sat there numb…too shocked to speak, too tired to fight.

The house was full, his family settled in like they lived there, my mom had gone home, and Mr. Giant was, as always, too busy or too tired to help. I asked for simple things like help with compression socks, lotion, the remote, but everything was “later” or “can’t you just do it”. I’ll never forget the moment he told me “You should have worked out more while you were pregnant, so you could heal quicker.” As if it’s unreasonable for a person to need more than a week to heal from a surgical birth!?

By the end of those two weeks, I was physically healed but emotionally drained.

Every word I said seemed to turn into an argument. Every need I expressed became a complaint. And somehow, in his eyes, everything wrong was my fault.

I prayed that one day we’d finally be on the same team, partners, parents, equals. But deep down, I think I knew… that was never the game he was playing but I held on to hope that with every life change our dynamic would change for the better.